The Length and Breadth of Skyrim: A Witch's Tale
by Baked The Author
Summary: Cast into an unfamiliar world, with only the memories of her spells and best friend, can Hermione beat the odds and find a way home? AU on both sides of the fence.
1. Prologue

_\ l /_

 **Prolouge**

The skies of Solstheim burned with green fire as we reached the summit.

In the open-air temple before us, the Tree Stone hummed with natural magic as it was forced to rape it from the land, the black stone structure encircling it pulsing with the corrupted power of its master.

Behind it, along the jagged stone teeth at the edges of the temple, three dragons snarled and leered as we approached the Stone. A _boom_ , from above and behind us, drew their attention unanimously; they'd find their claws more than full with Durnehviir, whose strength and power were only surpassed by Alduin himself. Regardless, I paid them little heed.

My eyes, narrowed in rage, were only for our foe.

" **And so,** " HE turned away from the Tree stone to face us, robes gleaming with fey-fire, twisted golden mask seeming to undulate in the unnatural light about us, " **we meet at last, here in my temple…Champions of Auri-El.** " The last couldn't be more mocking if he was a Thalmor.

Next to me, Drevas was still; the black claymore in his hands audibly sizzling and, though I dared not look, I knew his face would be carved into hate, my mentor's red eyes burning with righteous fury.

"Only three, then?" on my left, Farkas swung Chrysamere in a careless arc, keeping his body loose for what was to come, "What's wrong, milk-drinker? Still don't think you should take us seriously?"

"Now, Farkas," Serana's sickly sweet voice cut the air, bringing with it a coppery scent that was too familiar at this point, "I'm sure the coward _wanted_ to give us a proper welcome to his…home… Too bad all his followers are busy decorating the mountainside." She ended with a dark chuckle.

" **A minor setback, I assure you** ," HE dismissed, " **Such weaklings are easily replaced; and I shall, once you have all fallen, and your powers pass to me.** "

" _The only one who'll be falling today_ ," my voice was, as usual, distorted by Morokei's mask; yet it did nothing to hide the rage in my tone, " _is_ _ **YOU**_ _, Miraak._ "

HE chuckled darkly, tapping the staff in HIS grip once against the temple floor.

Four summoning spheres appeared on either side of the Tree Stone, disgorging-' _Nine help us_ '-that many _masked Dragon Priests_. Because, of course, it couldn't be that easy; not after fighting our way through an army of Lurkers, Seekers, cultists and the corrupted denizens of this forsaken land.

" **We seem to have a difference of opinion,** " Miraak simpered, as though speaking to a child, the fetcher, " **my dear Sorceress.** "

'I'm going to kill you, monster,' I thought, magic singing through my veins, "and go home…to Harry."

A beat of silence, seeming to last an age.

All at once, Oblivion broke loose.

The Priest's staves flared with unholy light.

A Wolf roared with lust for the coming battle.

Blood-scented magic tore through the air, tinting my vision red.

Three draconic roars of challenge were drowned out by a cry of raw despair mixed with the lamentations of damned souls and the bitter scream of genocide, the sky blotted out by fell wings.

Amidst it all, three Voices, Speaking in unison:

 _ **"MUL QAH DIIV!"**_

. . . . . .

_\ l /_

B.O.F.S. presents:

 **The Length and Breadth of Skyrim**

…

 **A Witch's Tale**

 **. . . . .**

 **Shouts:**

 **-** **Mul Qah Diiv** **-** (Strength-Armor-Wyrm) Dragon Aspect


	2. Chapter 1: Warm Sun, Glittering Dark

**Carpet Disclaimer for all chapters, past, present, and future:**

The Harry Potter franchise is the property of the estate of Dame J.K. Rowling, Knight of the British Empire and her publishers and affiliates. The Elder Scrolls franchise is the property of Bethesda Softworks and its affiliates. This story, and, by extension, myself, are not in any official way affiliated with either franchise or its respective owners, nor is this work of fiction for monetary profit of any kind.

Now that that bit of legalese is taken care of, have a fresh-out-the-oven chapter!

_\ l /_

 **Chapter 1:**

 **Warm Sun, Glittering Dark**

All things considered, it had been a better year than I expected.

Sure, there had been the whole business with Sirius Black escaping from prison, and the Dementors stationed around the school… _and_ that stupid falling-out over a broomstick; but, for all that, I couldn't say I was disappointed with how this year had gone, especially now that it was over.

After passing out from Dementor exposure on the Hogwarts Express, Harry had been rather quiet for a few days; he developed a thoughtful expression I'd never seen before, furrowed brows and a slight frown on his face; a bit more worrying were the occasional flashes of sadness I almost thought I'd imagined, they were so brief. Then, on the first weekend, he took Ron and I to an empty classroom, and told us why he'd passed out, what those monsters had made him relive.

Horrified doesn't begin to cover what I felt for my best(and first) friend. It was heartbreaking to hear him speak of such things, with a stony expression and flat voice; but that was almost nothing compared to what he told us next: he stated his desire to become strong, strong enough to prevent Voldemort ( _shudder_ ) from harming anyone else, strong enough to fight off the Dementors.

I didn't even hesitate to offer to help him, despite the sheer amount of classwork I was in for this year. Ron, too, gave his support; would follow Harry no matter what path he took.

In the weeks and months that followed, we (okay, mostly Harry and myself, Ron lagging behind a bit) threw ourselves into studying everything the Hogwarts library had on defense; from stunners to shields, summoning and banishing, and every jinx and charm in between. We also began exercising; a Muggle basic training book from my dad, a former Army sergeant, had us up at the crack of dawn, running along the edge of the Black Lake, with push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and pull-ups taking place in our dorms beforehand, much to our roommates' annoyance.

On the Sunday after our first week of self-imposed training, resting our burning bodies in the Common Room, Ron voiced his misgivings on the physical side of our efforts, "The spells I get," he groaned from the carpet in front of me, "but why are we running ourselves into the ground like this? It won't help us in classes…"

"Even if we get all our spells right," Harry muttered from the chair he was slumped in, "it won't mean anything if we can't _outlast_ our opponent. Black is older, has more experience than we do. But he's also been in Azkaban for 12 years."

"That's right, Ron," I moaned, because _God_ , my everything burned, "If we run into him, and, seeing as he's after Harry, that's likely," Ron groaned piteously into the carpet while Harry looked like he was trying to glare the ceiling into submission, "he'll be weak from all that Dementor exposure, living in that nightmare prison. If we get into shape, we'll be able to give him a run for his Galleons, if not get away to warn a teacher."

"Doesn't stop this from being torture, 'Mione," Ron grumbled, rolling onto his back to look at me, smiling, "But, hey, if nothing else, it's good training for when I try out for Quidditch next year."

I rolled my eyes painfully, as Harry chuckled.

And it _was_ worth it. By Christmas, I was in the best shape of my life; not overly muscular, just lean, my thighs beginning to flare a bit, my shoulders and chest a little broader; Harry likened my figure to that of a deer, much to my embarrassment, and Ron's amusement. The other boys in our year were starting to take notice, and even Lavender gave me a bit of praise, backhanded as it was with a 'now, if only your teeth weren't so large.' That earned her a stinging hex in the bum.

Of course, after Christmas hols, things got a bit awkward between the three of us, what with the argument over Harry's Firebolt. We still ran together, still ate together, studied together, and, as we'd moved into the physical combat portion of our Muggle training, sparred together; but we didn't talk to each other more than was necessary for the whole month of January and into February: Ron and I didn't talk because I'd gone to McGonagall, Harry and Ron didn't talk because Harry thought my concerns were valid, and Harry didn't talk to me because, despite agreeing with me, getting the broom taken away interfered with his Quidditch training.

When Harry got the broom back, Ron _almost_ bit my head off for worrying over nothing; a hard glance from Harry had him apologizing instead. I apologized back, then Harry apologized to both of us, and we were all back to the way we had been before that whole row. At least, for the first few days.

Two days later, a week before Valentine's Day, Harry asked if I'd like to spend said day with him.

"What? You mean, like, in the castle?" and if my heart didn't stop beating like that, it was getting something greasy for dinner.

"Er," oh my, was he blushing? "I sorta meant…I could meet you in Hogsmede…in disguise, of course. A color-changing charm on my hair and transfigured glasses should do it."

Did I dare…"Like…a date?"

"Um…yes? If you'd like?" he replied with a hopeful look.

Like to? _LIKE TO?!_ "…I'd love to."

I'll leave out the details (a respectable young woman doesn't kiss and tell) but that day was one of the most fantastic I can remember ever having; and, on top of it all, I had a boyfriend! A dishy, gentlemanly boyfriend, if I do say so myself.

We both thought Ron would be jealous, when we told him after a sparring session the next day, of our new relationship status, but he just stared at us both for a moment with a calculating expression, then deadpanned, "Fred and George owe me 15 galleons."

Harry blanched, "W-What?!"

I, on the other hand, was a bit quicker on the uptake, "You bet on us getting together?!" Also, more than a little furious.

"There's actually a betting pool," Ron said nonchalantly, seemingly unconcerned that he was cruising for a cursing, "My brothers run it; mostly it's over who Harry starts dating and when. I put down a galleon for you, before the end of this-ACK!"

Afterwards, once we'd been to Madam Pomphrey to treat our cuts and bruises (mainly because Ron started cursing back when Harry hit him with a leg-locker) and apologies exchanged, we spent the rest of the term in a passive-aggressive prank war with the twins; at least, when we (read: I) weren't stressing over exams, dominating the Quidditch pitch and inter-house rankings (Harry), or looking over our shoulders in case Black made another attempt on Harry, like on Halloween, and again in April.

Interestingly, despite all the classes I was taking, the mountains of homework we were all doing (my boys actually studied Runes and Arithmancy on the side to help with my workload, the dears), the aforementioned attempts by Black (he's **so** **lucky** that _I_ wasn't there), the time-lag from using the Time Turner, and the occasional strained muscle from sparring, I wasn't as stressed or tired out as I thought I'd be. Probably because I'd found an extracurricular activity that took much of the edge off: cuddling (and, okay fine, kissing) Harry under a notice-me-not charm in the Common Room. Ah, bliss.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

Shortly after exams, we went down to see Hagrid, who recently had to sell off a Hippogriff to avoid getting the sack or, arguably worse, the poor creature executed (damn Malfoy with his pointy face), when Scabbers did a runner…right for the Whomping Willow. Ron was now fast enough, however, that he managed to save the little bugger from a squishy fate.

Then a Grim appeared, dragged Ron away under the Willow, and everything went strange for a while.

I'll spare you the gory details. It turned out, in the end, that Scabbers was not only Peter Pettigrew, but also the one who betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort ( _squirm_ ), Sirius Black was innocent, there was some kind of bad blood between Professor Snape, and both Professor Lupin and Black, and that Professor Snape was a moron for knowingly putting three teenagers in mortal peril by not bringing a potion that makes werewolves (namely, Remus Lupin) docile. Oh, and Harry had somewhere else to spend the summer aside from his awful relatives; silver lining, sure, but that didn't stop our various reactions.

Ron sat, with a broken leg, staring at the ceiling of the Shrieking Shack with an incredulous expression on his face, like he couldn't believe the all-around stupidity.

Harry all but screamed at every adult involved, dressing them down for acting childish and not thinking things through, thereby putting everyone not a werewolf or animagus in peril, and, in Pettigrew's case, damning the man as a traitor, wholly deserving of a traitor's fate.

I just stunned the blubbering piece of trash, watched my boyfriend (mental happy dance) tear strips off two contrite-looking professors for a while, and chatted with a shocked Black about the Firebolt (how I learned about aforementioned hopeful summer arrangements); _honestly_ , after three years of fearing for my life and those of my friends, running gauntlets to protect a priceless artifact and getting petrified by a bloody Basilisk, what had just happened was fairly tame.

Plus, we were all in great physical shape, had done well on all our exams, and would be going into 4th year as three of the top five students in our year; definitely a step up from last year.

So, yes, this year was easily the best I'd ever had, and, as Harry and I helped Ron down the secret passage back to Hogwarts, both the boys, one of which I was dating (happy dance!), would agree that it was all-around a great year. Take _that_ , Dementors!

Still…all good things come to an end.

If I knew what was about to happen, I'd have brought my book bag, with my notes and pre-made potions and all we'd prepared for in the event of multiple worst-case scenarios.

If I had known where I'd be, what I'd be doing, I would've focused more on combat training than being top student in our year.

If someone had told me what was coming …

…I'd have told Harry goodbye.

"MOVE AND I'LL BLOW HER FUCKING HEAD OFF!" Pettigrew screamed from behind me, Lupin's wand to my temple.

' _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_ _I can't reach my wand he has my wand arm oh fuck_ '

"HERMIONE!" Harry had extracted himself from where Ron had fallen on him and now had his wand pointed right at Pettigrew's wand hand, the only part of him he could aim at, "LET HER GO!"

"Shut up, _Potter_!" ' _Did he_ have _to spit? Ew!_ ' I thought as I inched my leg into a position to hook his knee with my ankle, hopefully break it, and reverse his hold before transfiguring him into a tomato or something equally horrible, "I'm not going to Azkaban!"

"What's this going to accomplish, Wormtail?!" Sirius, from next to where Lupin had fallen, snarled. When Pettigrew woke up, being carried by Professor Lupin, he'd grabbed the man's head and drove him headfirst into the wall of the tunnel, snatched up Lupin's wand, stunned Ron, and grabbed me, putting me into a standing arm-bar before anyone could react beyond drawing wands. "You're still on Hogwarts grounds! You can't apparate! Give up!"

"I swear to Merlin," Harry hissed, green eyes filled with anger, voice low, "You hurt her and the Aurors will be taking you away in a _fucking_ bucket."

' _Just a few more inches and I'll break your leg, you-_ '

Pettigrew chuckled, "Who said anything about Apparating, Padfoot?" His wand snapped from my temple to … to the chain around my neck.

' _Wha-_ '

" _Portus,_ " Pettigrew said gleefully.

' _OH MY GOD IN HEAVEN YOU_ _ **MORON!**_ ' my face contorted in horror.

"NO!" Sirius cried, sending a silent stunner right at us.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Harry cried desperately.

Too late.

There was a tug. Not in my navel, like the one time before I'd taken a portkey to Diagon Alley before first year with my parents, but in my chest. And we didn't go up, but sideways.

Harry's cry of my name faded quickly as a miasma of … light, rose to meet us. I can't find any other way to describe it, the light: it seemed to be every color of the rainbow and no color at all, like someone had taken the full palette of the universe and mixed it into an endless sea of every shade of grey, swirling in ways that my terrified brain told me fluid _should never_ move, creating patterns and prisms complex enough to make any physicist or arithmancer hit the whiskey. It was also _very_ loud; we (Pettigrew was along for the ride, if the screams from behind me were any indication) were moving very fast through the light, but the sound wasn't like wind; more like a cacophony of twangs, bells, dings, hoots, bings, and beeps, all rising together to create a symphony as discordant as it was orderly, if that makes any sense.

There was a sound, then, like glass shattering on a stone floor.

The light whirled faster, forming nine white stars.

The symphony changed, now like a chorus of screaming.

I shut my eyes, and prayed to live through this.

I hit the ground so hard I was torn from Pettigrew's grip, falling forward onto a rough, dirty ground while, from the sound of his 'Oof!', he'd fallen on his arse.

Something grainy fell from my neck as I propped myself up on my right forearm, slowly going for my wand with my left. I opened my eyes.

There was golden glitter falling on the ground. The blue-violet-lit ground. ' _What?_ '

"W-What's going on?! Where are we?" Pettigrew sounded panicked, so I looked up.

And up. ' _Oh, wow…_ "

We were at the base of a truly massive phosphorescent mushroom, maybe fifty feet tall, that pulsed with a pretty violet light. A quick glance around showed it wasn't the only such fungus; there were other, smaller, blue-white mushrooms scattered about in the … cavern? Underground city? There were regular structures, stone trimmed with golden brass, scattered about in the gloom. In the distance, I could see a large yellow globe, glowing like a false Sun over a partially crumbling citadel; the wall of the cavern was in the distance, sporting what looked to be more of those grey stone and brass structures (' _maybe an exit?_ ' I thought); the wall rose far above the cavern floor, to gargantuan heights, the roof being almost a half mile over my head, interspersed with bluish-yellow crystals and glowing…root…things, perhaps more fungus, and pillars of stone taller than the Astronomy tower holding it all up. It was awe-inspiring, and probably would have been beautiful, were it not for the sense of ruin and dread permeating the place: everything smelled musty, like no one had been here in ages, but with an undercurrent of something fouler.

I was, understandably, confused and more than a little frightened. Where in the world did the portkey take us…? Or, given the circumstances... _when_?

"What did you do?!" Oh, right, Pettigrew. Best take care of that. I flipped onto my back, drawing my wand to stun him-

" _Stupe-_ "

" _Crucio!_ "

I'd read about the Unforgivable Curses, anticipating, someday, having to face one of them. Just another risk of being friends with Harry, I'd thought at the time. Best be prepared.

Nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

"- _fffiiiiiIIIIEEEEEEEEEEAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH_ HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" It was like being flayed alive while being doused with acid … after being set on fire. Luckily, I wasn't held under it long, just long enough to leave me quivering and sobbing with pain. I almost didn't catch his next shouted demand.

"-ask you again, mudblood!"

' _FUCK! C'mon, girl, get those tears under control before he does that again,_ ' I thought, trying to control the tremors running through my body, "I-I-It wa-wasn't-t-t m-me! Th-The _chain!_ It w-was for a _T-Time-Turner!_ "

"…WHAT?!" Did he _have_ to scream? Who knows what could be lurking around this place? "Why didn't you say anything, you little slut?! Now we're-ah!"

Odd thing to say, in normal circumstances, which these hardly were, but still-

Oh. There was an arrow in his shoulder. "Wha-what the _fuck_?!" He looked rather surprised by this; given all his screaming, he shouldn't be.

We both looked at where the arrow had come from.

Just past the gargantuan purple fungus, there was a gloomy, dark structure, with crouched humanoid shapes, about fifteen of them, moving about it. Moving toward us. Alarmingly fast, at that.

' _Okay Granger,_ ' I thought, my grip tightening on my wand, ' _you can try fighting some unknown force, outnumbered at that, next to the guy who helped make Harry an orphan and just_ tortured _you, or you can head for the wall of the cavern and try to find a way out._ '

I glanced toward the wall, about a mile away. Looks clear. I looked at Pettigrew.

" _Reducto!_ " he cried painfully. One of the humanoid shapes shattered. Its friends sent more arrows, one of which missed me by inches. Yeah, _hell no_.

" _Depulso!_ " I cried, making Pettigrew stumble towards the creatures that were getting rather too close for comfort, before getting on my feet and sliding down the hill we were on, hitting a convenient road and booking it as fast as I could away from the screaming.

It was a few sprinting steps later that an arrow hissed by my right shoulder and clacked off the stones. They were chasing me! Crap! I picked up the pace, weaving in an erratic path to keep them from drawing a bead on me, occasionally turning to loose a spell or two at my pursuers, who, once they crossed beneath a primitive streetlight, I got a good look at.

It was like someone who was afraid of house-elves and prone to paranoid delusions had described them to the most callous Dark wizard they could find, who then made these horrific creatures. They were blind, as far as I could tell, but from the look of their long ears and the bat-like holes where their noses should have been, they obviously made do without sight. The sharp teeth just added to their nightmarish look. They were armored in some kind of chitinous material, wielding swords and cruel-looking axes made from the same material; and was that lightning crackling on one's hand?...

 _BZZZT!_

' _OH SHITE! WANDLESS MAGIC?!_ ' Oh yeah, run like hell.

I managed to make it to the hill right before the wall, climbing up the road as fast as I could. Luckily for me, these things didn't move as fast as I did after a year of physical training, so I made the top of the hill before any of them were even close to halfway up.

There _was_ as door set in the wall, one that was eight times my size and probably weighing hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds. Bugger. That'll take too long to open. There was a house to my right, though. As I ran toward it, I already had a plan: get to the house, lock myself in, wait till these things lose interest, and find a way home to Harry. Not my best plan, but the details would get meshed out once I had a better idea of where I was.

I was almost at the door, about to raise my hand to open the door, when the arrow tore straight through my right calf, sending me to the rubble-strewn ground with a cry of pain.

' _NO!_ ' I thought, turning over to see one of those _things_ bearing down on me with a sword, " _Not like this!_ ' " _Reducto!_ " The thing was blasted back, a smoking hole in its chest; I tried to shimmy back to the door, to _safety_ , when the arrow in my leg caught on a stone.

I hissed; another arrow flew wide, skipping on a rock; I looked at my leg: a large pool of blood had formed beneath it, the arrow broken in the wound; I was getting light-headed. ' _No…not an artery! Fuck! FUCK!_ ' Tears came to my eyes, realizing that I…I probably wouldn't make it.

I looked up. Another of the creatures, covered head to toe in insect-like armor, raising a club with hairy-looking spikes on it.

I heard metal grind on stone behind me.

I thought, inexplicably, of my first kiss with Harry.

The creature struck.

 **Pain.**

 **Red.**

 **Black.**

_\ l /_

A/N: And that's the first chapter of what promises to be a reasonably long story, 20 to 30 chapters or so. The outline is pretty much done, and just needs fleshing out. Look for updates roughly once every few weeks, or every month or two.

Oh, and did I mention this was AU on both sides of the fence? Whoops.

Thanks for reading!

~Baked


	3. Chapter 2: Thought and Memory

**For Disclaimer, see Chapter 1**

 **But enough about that, it's Chapter 2!**

 **. . . . .**

 **Chapter 2:**

 **. . . . .**

 **Thought and Memory**

 **. . . . .**

 **_\|/_  
. . . . .**

 **Drevas' Journal  
20** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Blackreach, Sinderion's Redoubt**

Alas, Sinderion. Why didn't you hire some muscle, old fool?

I'd heard of the bloke, back when I'd just left Elsewyr, and I'd stopped in Skingrad to pick up supplies for Ellie's and my trip to Hammerfell. One hundred and fifteen years ago … blimey, was it really so long ago?

Anyway, heard he was a hell of a master alchemist, pioneered some new uses for Nirnroot that were pretty famous during the Oblivion Crisis, then up and sold shop one day for no apparent reason.

To think he found his end in this Nine-forsaken hole, another victim of the Falmer's hospitality. Forsooth.

Left his notes behind, along with a potted sample of Crimson Nirnroot; should be useful, that. Find out what's in the soil, must be special, maybe the pot? Looks Dwemer.

Speaking of Falmer, there's quite a lot of them scattered about down here, much like Alftand (what a colossal cock-up that was), but that's not too much of an issue. Falmer I can handle. So long as there's no Daedra skulking about-

What's that sound?

. . . . .

 **21** **st** **First Seed, 4E201  
Blackreach, Sinderion's Redoubt**

(Penmanship is shaky for this entry)

Okay … have to stay awake long enough to get this down, while it's fresh in my mind.

Did I say quite a lot of Falmer? Better upgrade that to 'possible breeding hive'. When it snows, it blizzards, as the Nords say.

The sound I heard was a young lass, maybe fifteen summers old, with an arrow in her leg, trying to fight off a good dozen of the filthy things. Unsuccessfully, as no sooner did I open the door did she get whacked across her right brow with the blunt side of a war axe. So, being the kind, law-abiding citizen that I am, out came the mace and ol' Scales, which sent the little demons running. Except the one what brained the lass: he was busy getting 'is head smashed into 'is ribcage. Fetcher.

Dunno why, but the fuckers are _really_ scared of Clannfear. Whatever, good for me.

Lass was in bad shape once I got 'er in the redoubt: left most of 'er blood on the ground, bad wound in the leg, easy to heal af'er all…

(Line of ink drags off the page before continuing)

… these years. Damn it, still light headed. Arrow wounds are easy, after all these years. Regrow the bone, pour a healing fortifier on it, heal the fleshy bits and blood vessels, and you're basically done. Her smashed right orbital and cracked skull were harder to deal with: took 2 of my strongest magicka restoratives, a potion to speed up my magicka regeneration, and a gauze bandage soaked in a regenerative and disease curative to keep it from tearing or getting infected; I neglected healing it all the way, just enough to make sure she wouldn't lose her eye. Have to wait till she wakes up, make sure her eye can move, before finishing the job.

On top of all that, I had to mitigate the blood loss. Speaking of, I should send a card and gift-basket to old Nel for showing me how to do a field transfusion, back in that cock-up expedition to Vvardenfell. On the other hand, missing a good five pints of blood is less fun. Better take a restorative for that.

She's a bit sweaty, not quite a fever yet; lass is quite the fighter. Clothes might be ruined, too much blood; her hair was worse: I had to cut most of it off, there was so much dried blood. I got her into a clean tunic and skirt, after getting her out of her clothes to get the blood off; but that's what might be the strangest part of this whole situation. Her clothes.

A white shirt with button-able cuffs, some silk scarf that's worn about the neck (decorative?), knee length flared skirt, with socks the same length in a striped red/gold pattern; also, a heavy robe, wool, good for moving about in the winter, not so much for fighting … and all made with a precision that I've never come across in all my years, that would make that Altmer bint up at Radiant Raiment weep with envy. Okay, maybe not, but she'd still turn green at least. Shoes are strange, too: pretty well-made, but with cheap material; _what_ was she _thinking_ , mucking about in a ruin in clothing more suited to palace life or a magickal laboratory?; thing is, even though it all _looks_ flimsy, it all been cobbled so well, I don't think the stitches will come out easy. Fairly remarkable, and unnerving. Wherever she's from, it's not anywhere I've ever been, and I've been quite a few places in my 148 years. Akaviir, perhaps? Artaeum, the home of the Psijics? If so, _HOW?!_

On top of that, she's got some kind of ornate stick that my magicka senses tell me is enchanted; thing is, I can't make it do anything at all. Curious.

Ah, nothing for it then but to wait till she comes out of it. Some water, bread and cheese, a regenerative potion for the blood, then a few more winks. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

. . . . .

 **22** **nd** **First Seed, 4E201  
Blackreach, Dwemer Studio Apartment (haha)**

She still hasn't woken. On the other hand, she hasn't slipped into a coma. Fever's almost gone as well. Small mercies.

My strength has returned … but it's odd. I feel like something's … missing. Like … a part of myself is both there and … not. Azura, Julianos, give me sight and wisdom.

Does it have something to do with donating my blood to her? Gods, I hope not. She's just some odd kid, undeserving of such cruel fate. The Greybeards may have called this a blessing from Kyne, while that bitch Delphine called it a tool to use, but I'm not some green little shit out of the house and on his own for the first time in life, and I haven't been for a _very. Long. Time._

I know better. It gives you power while putting the desire to dominate in your blood. Mercilessly addictive, like skooma, only better. And _far,_ _ **far**_ more dangerous.

It is a curse, one I'd hoped wouldn't get passed on.

Bah, I need a distraction from these absurd notions. I'll grab my bow and my mace and the Toolbox, go explore for a few hours, see if I can find out where this girl came from.

Better leave Scales here, just in case she wakes up, or the Falmer decide to pay a house call.

_ A few hours later _

Found an arm by a huge purple fungus. This place is unnervingly like Morrowind, mushrooms everywhere I look, nightmares around every corner, can't wait to leave. Bad memories.

Anyway the arm had some cheesy tat on it: a skull with a snake slithering out of it. Got a little magic in it too, feels like necromancy. Hmm; I'll let Serana take a look; necromancy's not my gig, never has been. Serana, on the other hand, might be able to figure out what it does, or _did,_ in this case (heh). Also, this raises some further questions about the young lass on the bed…

There was more, of the person the arm belonged to I mean, but in no state for retrieval: half eaten bits of flesh and shattered bones, no thanks. Not putting that in the Toolbox. Arm in a soul-gem powered stasis field? Sure! Falmer leftovers? I think not.

This cavern is _massive_ : must be five miles from one end to the other, half a mile from floor to ceiling, littered throughout with signs of long-term Falmer settlement (sod) and fairly impressive Dwemer constructions. Even a lantern the size of the Dragonsreach main hall, over a huge citadel! There's also evidence of the same aetherium that went into building the Toolbox, mostly in the crags spaced throughout the place; just traces, though, nothing to bother Neloth with. I wonder why the Dwemer built this place … and why there's _so many Gods-_ _ **forsaken fucking FALMER!**_ Really! I must have run into a full score of the buggers just retracing the lass' trail and coming back! Definitely a breeding colony somewhere in this place…

An aetherium mining complex, perhaps? Research facility? Something worse? Who knows with the Dwemer.

As for my mysterious patient, the lass still has-

(Sharp line ends sentence)

She woke for a few moments, just now, thank Stendarr. Cried out for someone called Har'ii, managed to swallow a nutrient potion I'd prepared, then was out like a light again. Bugger. Didn't get a chance to check her eye.

I wonder if she'll be mad I've cut her hair. Then again, it was matted with blood. Gah, stay on topic, old fart!

I suppose I should describe her: round face with a button nose, slight freckles, like one of those Breton girls that have suitors galore. Looks a little like Sorine, actually, but 10 years younger … wonder if there's something she needs to tell Serana, Gunmar, Isran and I (smirk).

The mystery lass has a good build, too, like someone who gets a lot of exercise and eats well; like a Legion recruit that tested into officer training, or a Companion brat like Aela was. Hm. Curiouser and curiouser (is that even a word? Meh, _is now_ , heh).

So, on one hand, she's dressed like some high noble from a land I've never heard of, with a mysterious item that I can't activate … on the other hand, she looks to be in fine fettle, and can probably take care of herself in a pinch; better make that _obviously_ , instead of _probably_ , if the fist-sized hole in that Falmer's chest is any indication. I wonder how she did that …

-Later-

I spent the rest of the day figuring out what properties this Crimson Nirnroot has; Sinderion, the bloody arse, put all his research and recipes in _code_ , damn; good thing I'm not a half-bad alchemist myself.

Apparently, the Crimson version of Nirnroot gives a healthy boost to whatever potion you put it in, so long as the properties are similar enough. I managed to make a particularly deadly poison by mixing its concentrated essence with filtered extract of Deathbell. If I can figure out a way to farm these noisy plants without using the fungi here in Blackreach, all the better; maybe that friend of Sinderion's, Avrusa Sarethi, is still alive; she might know something…

The lass' breathing has evened out; she seems to be sleeping; Arkay, Mara, Stendarr, Kynareth, Meridia, grant her strength, see her to wakefulness, and keep her from the Void. Best catch a few winks myself, right after cobbling together some basic armor for her: if we're going to make it out of here alive, we _both_ need to be protected.

. . . . .

 **Dark.**

 **. . . . .**

 **Cold.**

 **. . . . .**

 **Warm.**

 **. . . . .**

 **Pain.**

 **. . . . .**

 **Nothing…**

 **. . . . .**

" _Her…ne! W…e up!"_

 _"Muhh…Harry?"_

 **. . . . .**

My eyelids felt like they were made of stone, as did my limbs, but I knew I was alive…wasn't I?

Everything hurt, but mostly my right eye and brow, a stinging lance in my skin. Owie…what happened? Did I fall down the stairs or something?

' _Okay, Hermione, don't panic. Just…open your eyes, take stock,'_ I did so gingerly, and was met with blurry brightness.

Only my left eye opened; my right was covered by something soft and wet; I sniffed; copper, and … something unfamiliar. Everything was too bloody _bright_ , ah, there, things are getting clearer…

…

Is that a black lizard in front of me?

…

It licked its chops and blinked blue eyes at me.

…

"EEK!" I tried to get away from the strange thing, but stopped when my head gave a throb of pain, " _Ah!_ Owww…"

" _SQWAK!_ " the creature, like some mix between bird and lizard, scrabbled away from me, towards the center of the … room?

Sitting up a bit gave me a better view of my surroundings, which were more like a cozy apartment: I was lying in a bedroll, on a bed made of stone (what?), on one side of the apartment; to my left was an open doorway, partially covered by a rust-red curtain, which had a light steam emitting from it; halfway to the other side was a fireplace, with a pot suspended over the flame, and a green-white circular rug on the floor, currently occupied by the black lizard creature which was watching me curiously; the opposite side of the apartment looked strange, and I was only able to get a look at the bedside table on my right side before another painful _throb_ ran through my head and I had to lay back down and shut my eyes.

But I saw it! My wand was on the table! I was about to reach out to grab it when a deep, kind voice spoke.

"Ah, you're awake. Gods be praised, but you shouldn't be moving so soon." The voice came from the other side of the room, getting closer… could the lizard thing talk?

I opened my one (apparently) good eye as the footsteps came closer. It wasn't the lizard. It was…something else.

Dark grey skin; short, spiky white hair; a lined, weathered, noble face sporting a wispy goatee, with thin lips curled in a kind smile; blood-red eyes, soft, but with a hardness about them; pointed ears, a jade-green loop in the lobe of the right one, the other with a jagged chunk taken out of the tip; all atop a tall, lanky body, chest covered in a thick black tunic, their legs covered in even thicker black armor. ' _What…_ '

"You had a nasty blow to the head," the being said lightly, voice a little raspy, "so I'd advise not moving much till I can make sure your eye has healed properly. More importantly," it sat on a chair I hadn't noticed, "how do you feel? Stiff? Sore?"

"I…," my throat felt like sandpaper, "…thirsty."

A cup of water later, I decided to answer this…person's… questions; "My head hurts, bad. I…I don't know where I am, or h-how I got here. Y-you said I got hit in the head, but I-I don't remember even that!"

" _Easy_ , lass," the strange (and slightly scary) being said firmly.

"And _you_!" my head throbbed again, but I _had_ to know, "What even _are_ you?"

It looked quite surprised by that question, but still answered, slowly and calmly: "I'm a Dunmer, which is a Dark Elf. My race originated in Morrowind, a land in the east of Tamriel, which is the continent we're residing in. Specifically, I'm a male of my race. Apologies," he looked a little bashful, rubbing the back of his head, which looked _bloody weird_ for someone so tall, "I haven't introduced myself. Drevas of Mournhold, professional adventurer and part-time hero, at your service." He said all that with a warm smile and bow of greeting. ' _What…who…where…'_

A moment of silence passed, as my muddled brain tried to process what it was seeing and hearing, and as this Drevas' smile slowly faded.

"And…you are?" he prompted carefully. ' _Oh! Right, manners, Hermione._ '

"Hermione G-Granger, sir," I introduced myself shakily, "and I'm fairly sure I've never heard of Dunmer, or-or Tamriel, or-"

"Miss Granger?"

"Er…y-yes sir?" what? He said that quite sternly.

"Maybe I should make sure you have use of both eyes," he said evenly, but kindly, "before we take that walk down memory lane?"

"O-Oh! Yes, of course," maybe my head would stop throbbing as well.

Drevas leaned over me, deft hands removing the bandage wrapped around my head that kept the soft cloth (' _Gauze? Is that what it's called?_ ') pressed against my brow. As he did so, I noticed something.

"Um…Mr. Drevas?"

"Yes?"

"Er…what happened to my hair? I don't remember it being so short..."

"Ah," he looked a little sheepish again, "I had to cut most of it off; partly to make sure the crown of your head wasn't damaged, and partly due to the amount of dried blood in it." Oh. Well…if it couldn't be helped…

Presently, he removed the gauze bandage from my brow and eye. I kept that eye closed for a moment, so it could adjust to the light, before opening it. " _Ah_ ," I hissed, "hurts…"

Mr. Drevas didn't seem concerned, "That's expected, all things considered," he remarked unhelpfully, _hmph_ , "Your eye looks fine, from my end anyway. How's your sight?"

"Good," I whispered, because the alternative was sobbing with pain, "A little blurry from the tears though…"

"Right, and it seems to be moving fine as well," he raised his left hand, which became enveloped in golden light, "I'll just finish healing your brow so you can get comfortable, and then we can talk, hm?" He was smiling, which made me feel a little better.

"Okay," I closed my eyes…

And the most _wonderful_ feeling appeared in my brow: like a warm, soft stream of water was flowing into my hurts, taking them and closing them up, smoothing the pain away like making a bed.

"Oh my, what is that?" I sighed, feeling content. Mr. Drevas chuckled, like I'd just told an old joke.

"Restoration magic, Miss Granger; in this case, a precision spell used by Temple healers, mainly for torn muscles and lacerations caused by farm work," the feeling faded, and I opened my eyes without pain. Mr. Drevas' eyes were crinkled with mirth, as he continued, "It also works well for delicate healing, where potion restoratives don't cut it; try sitting up?" He moved back, looking at me expectantly.

I did so, slowly, as I was quite stiff in my joints; ' _How long have I been asleep?_ ' I wondered; eventually, I managed to prop myself up against the wall at the head of the bed. It was cool, and comforting…still…

I raised my hand, running it along where the bandage had been: three thin grooves with jagged edges ran from above my eyebrow to the middle of my right temple. Other than that, I seemed to be in one piece; as to how I got in this state…

Then the lizard thing _barked_ at me. "Eep!" I yelped.

"Oh, don't mind Scales there," Drevas assured me with a smirk, "He's my familiar, been hanging around me longer than I can remember. He won't hurt you; in fact, he's kept a rather close eye on you these past three days." He turned that smirk on the creature, which huffed and lay down.

So I'd been out for three days…that still didn't explain a few things, like, "And what, precisely, _is_ Scales?"

"A clannfear alpha; found him in the Black Marsh oh, ages ago. He took a liking to me and we've been friends ever since," the alpha in question huffed derisively, to which Drevas retorted playfully, "Oh, sure, leave me for the first pretty young she to cross our path, traitor!"

It was such a ridiculous scene that I had to laugh. All the same, I still had more questions than answers.

I turned to Mr. Drevas, "How…What happened to me?" ' _And why can't I remember…?_ '

His face went neutral, but his eyes stayed soft, as he told me: "I'd been down here for a few hours when I heard a commotion outside the door," he indicated a heavy bronze door, next to the now dozing Scales, "Upon investigation, I found you being…accosted…by the rather unpleasant natives of this cavern, which are called Falmer. Nasty creatures," he looked disgusted as he said this, "they kill or capture any _thing_ they can get their greasy mitts on; nearly killed _you_ ," my blood ran cold, "despite your best efforts. Luckily, the gods must've been watching over you, lass: if I hadn't been here…"

I fought down the urge to scream or cry; ' _I almost_ _ **died**_ _?! W-what about Harry? Wait…_ '

"I-I mean…How did I get h-here?" there were tears in my eyes, but I could still see the pained frown on Mr. Drevas' face. "Why can't I r-remember getting h-hurt? W-where's Harry?"

"I have a few theories to that, Miss Granger," he rasped gently, placing a hand on my shoulder in comfort, "I'll address the memory problem first: you took a rather bad blow to the head, as I said; you're likely suffering from amnesia: memory loss. The good news is that it's probably temporary," he finished with a smile, which I certainly _wasn't about to return_!

I swatted his hand away before fixing him with a glare, "And how could you _possibly_ _ **know**_ _that?!_ " I was upset, angry, and more than a little afraid, hence me snapping at him. I certainly did **not** screech.

His response, delivered with unflappable calm and certainty, brought my personal crisis to a screeching halt: "You remember someone, Harry; you remember your name; you remember how to speak with clarity, and can understand what I'm saying to you; you can understand abstract concepts, if your reaction to this situation is any indication," I flushed a bit at that one. Was I so obvious? "And, _finally_ , you _realize that you have memories missing_."

A moment of silence passed, each of us staring at the other: Drevas looking stern, while I mused on what he said. Finally, "I'm sorry," I said, "…I'm scared, and…"

"And that's perfectly understandable, Hermione," his eyes softened, but his face didn't, "You're in the presence of an unknown individual, with no memories of what got you in this situation. You don't trust me, do you?"

"Er…well, you don't _exactly_ look like a nice person, Mr. Drevas," I said carefully, before adding hastily, "No offence."

But he laughed! "None taken, lass. But you're overlooking a few major details."

Oh? "And that detail is…?"

Suddenly, his entire face changed: his eyes were pools of blood, his smile so cruel as he said, "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead," then his face was back to normal, and my heart remembered it was supposed to be beating, "Also, if I _wasn't_ a nice person, like some certain bandit scum I killed on the way here, I probably would've raped you by now."

Well, wasn't _that_ reassuring! "Well…thanks, I feel _so much better_ now."

He winced, holding his hands up, "A bit blunt, yes; but hopefully you've gotten the point: I haven't, nor do I plan to, hurt you. In fact, I'm trying to help you…in my own roundabout way."

' _I guess I can't judge him,_ ' I thought, ' _After all, what do I know?_ ' So I smiled, and gestured for him to go on.

He leaned back then, face softening back to kindness, before he concluded his earlier diagnosis: "Now, I'm no Temple healer, but this isn't the first time I've encountered amnesia from a knock about the head; best case scenario, you'll regain your memories slowly over the next few weeks."

Weeks?! _AT BEST?!_ "And…at worst?" I asked worriedly.

"Well," his face scrunched up in thought, "you _will_ remember-I won't even consider you _not_ regaining your memories, as I'm an optimist-but at worst it'll take several months, maybe years before you recall everything."

"Oh…" my face fell, ' _Months, maybe years… but…'_ I looked him in the eye, and asked, "And…H-Harry?"

"Hm…" Mr. Drevas looked thoughtful, "Can you describe him?"

"Um…" I thought, hard, trying to recall all the blurry memories of…of the person I loved… "Messy black hair, stocky build, about my height and age…"

"He's not here," Mr. Drevas' tone was final, like he knew; I asked him how he knew, to which he replied, "Once you were stable, I went out and retraced the path you took through Blackreach, which is the cavern outside the door; I found the remains of one fully grown adult, with _brown_ hair, and no other trail indicating a third individual being present aside from the Falmer."

' _Adult?_ ' I remembered Harry being angry about something…and… _fear_. "I think that adult was a bad man, Mr. Drevas."

He winced, but chuckled, "Please, just Drevas; adding the Mister makes me feel old."

"Oh…how old are you?"

"One hundred and forty-eight," he said without irony. ' _Oh my god…_ ' "But, you were saying?"

"Just…a memory, the last one I have of Harry…I can't even remember what we were doing…just that something really bad was happening…" I trailed off, mostly because trying to remember _hurt_.

"Well," Drevas started, standing and moving to the fireplace, "don't try to force it, it's bound to come back to you in time." I nodded, feeling a bit tired. ' _Must be the excitement_.' "Now, brace yourself, because I have two things-no, _three_ things- to say to you."

A flash of worry ran through me, ' _Oh no, what now?!_ '

He whipped the lid off the pot over the fire, filling the room with the smell of _food_ , making me realize just how hungry I was; two wooden bowls were produced and filled as Drevas began to speak:

"Firstly, Hermione Granger, based on what I've observed of you so far-your speech patterns and clothes, for instance," here, he gestured to a pile of folded bloodstained clothes next to the door, "-I can say with confidence that you're not from anywhere on Nirn, the world we both find ourselves in," he looked at me, to gauge my reaction no doubt, which was stunned silence, before continuing, "I'm not sure how you got here-I was hoping you'd remember, you see-but if you can get here, you can surely return to your own world, wherever that may be."

A bowl of delicious smelling stew was placed next to me, along with a metal spoon in it, but I couldn't eat; I felt sick. ' _Another world?! How? Stupid memories, tell me how this happened!_ ' My head was starting to hurt again-

Grey fingers snapped in front of my face, bringing me back to the present, "What did I say about forcing it?" Drevas chided gently.

"Sorry, it's just…" I trailed off helplessly.

"Yes, well," he looked down at his own bowl, on his armored lap, "stranger things have happened…," he cleared his throat, "Secondly: because you're apparently from another world, you'll have to learn the ways of this one: history and mannerisms, as well as the local culture. And the reason for _that_ ," he pointed at me, as I had been about to interrupt, "is to make sure no one suspects you're from another world. Trust me, if less altruistic persons than myself were to find that out … just keep in mind, Hermione, that there _are_ fates worse than death. I'll teach you what I know, and what to expect, while you recover, but when we rejoin the civilized world, it's up to you to make a good impression. We clear?"

I nodded, realizing the severity of my situation. ' _But I can do this! Harry's waiting for me!_ ' "And what's the third thing?" I asked evenly, mostly because I wanted to start eating.

He smiled even as his eyes hardened, "You're handling this well. Good, you might just make it…Lastly, and I will not repeat what I'm about to say, so pay attention." ' _As if I wasn't already,_ ' I thought, but still focused on his slowly hardening face as he spoke in a quiet voice, "Lastly, I _cannot_ guarantee your safety; beyond that door, there are no such things as civility or mercy. There are things out there that _will kill you_ as soon as look at you, and that's if you're _lucky_. The Falmer are just the beginning: there are brigands out there that won't hesitate to kill you for your _shoes_ , if not capture and _rape you_ until you break, then sell you to a brothel for a case of ale and a few Septims once they get bored with using you, if not slit your throat and leave you in a ditch; and don't think, for even a _second_ , that they won't, because they will. I've seen them do it," he took a spoonful of stew, eating it, without looking away from my horrified face, before he went on, "There are beasts out there that don't sleep, that can tear you apart in an _instant_ ; there are things straight out of your worst nightmares that can do _far worse_ than kill or rape you, trust me on that. I cannot watch out for you _and_ expect to stay alive myself, not against such threats. To wit, I ask: can you defend yourself from such threats?"

Can I … oh, _honestly_! I reached over to my wand, picked it up, and pointed it at his morsel-laden spoon, " _Spongify!_ "

The look of utter shock and mortification on his face as Drevas' spoon went limp, sending the food he was about to eat back into the bowl with a satisfying ' _Plop!_ ' set me to giggling.

He sighed, then, "Alright, so that stick helps you cast spells, then?" I nodded, still grinning, "So, other than making spoons flaccid," he matched my grin, "what can you do?"

My grin went mischievous, "It's called a _wand_ , and from what I can recall, _Mister Drevas_ ," ooh, did he look annoyed; serves him right for scaring me, "I've spent the last year with Harry learning every spell we could find, in addition to learning unarmed self-defense; the spell I just used? It's called the Softening Charm, and I can use it on **anything**."

His eyebrows nearly shot right off his head, before he asked weakly, " _Anything?_ "

I nodded, before adding, "I also know spells that can knock out a person, tie them up, hang them in the air by their ankle," He was looking less impressed, so I upped the ante, " _blow them to pieces_ ," that got his attention, "cut their limbs off, or blast through a _five-foot thick_ stone wall, _and_ I can do all that and only get slightly winded. So," I took a bite of stew, and _ohhh it was sooo good_ , "yes, I think I can handle myself." I looked up smugly-

To see a bell-ended mace, midnight black and edged with crackling flames, stop suddenly _two inches from my face_! "HOLY SHITE!" I fell on my back, looking up in shock at Drevas' grinning face, "What was that for?!"

" _That_ , Miss Granger, was for being cocky. As for the lesson it was meant to convey," he placed the dreadful hammer back by the fireplace, "if an enemy gets too close, your spells won't be worth squat if you don't have a fallback weapon."

That…actually made sense. "Speaking from experience?"

"Yep," he got another spoon from the fireplace mantle and went back to eating.

I cautiously resumed as well, until my curiosity overcame me, "Will you teach me how to fight?"

He looked at me for a second, before, "Nope, and the reason for that is I have literally _no_ formal training in _any weapon whatsoever_."

I dropped my spoon, "You're joking."

He shrugged, "I'm really not; the bow? I needed to eat. As for any other weapon, I picked it up watching Legionaries train when I was very young, and practicing with a stick. The rest, dodging and whatnot, I learned from an old merc on an expedition I volunteered for. His advice: 'kill _them_ before they kill _you_.' So no, I can't teach you how to swing a mace or nock a bow, because you might pick up my bad habits and get yourself killed." He finished with a pointed look.

I lowered my head, trying to think of something to say to that…

"I _do_ , however, have a crossbow," I looked up, brightening, as he smiled at me, "and the only requirements to using that are common sense and a steady hand. Up for it?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Alright, we'll start tomorrow." Drevas collected my empty bowl as I yawned. "Get some sleep." And he wandered off to the other side of the room, humming a tune and scratching Scales' fringe as he did.

' _Maybe this won't be so terrible_ ,' I thought, as I curled up in my bedroll, ' _I'll be home soon, Harry_.'

Scales jumped onto the bed, curling up against my back; as I drifted off, I thought of how warm its body was, and heard Drevas mutter " _Traitor_ …" from across the room.

. . . . .

 ** _It begins…_**

 **Next time: Hermione prepares, gets a history lesson, and takes her leave of Blackreach.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 3: Tears of Snow

**For legal disclaimer, see Chapter 1.**

 **Author's note at the bottom, but who cares! Here's Chapter 3!**

 **. . . . .**

 **_\|/_**

 **Chapter 3:**

 **Tears of Snow**

 **. . . . .**

 **26** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Blackreach  
. . . . .**

 _Chack!…Thunk!_

"Good, keep your knees bent, far right target now…"

 _Chack!...Thunk!_

"Good shooting, take a rest," Drevas said from behind me.

I sighed, lowering the crossbow made from Dwemer metal, and looked at the makeshift targets he'd set up with wooden barrels, forming a rudimentary firing range. Eight out of ten bulls-eyes, "I didn't get them all."

"No need," Drevas was sitting on a rock, stuffing a long-stemmed pipe with that mossy stuff he's so fond of, "You were slightly off on the more distant two, but when it comes to actual shooting, with targets this large, the bulls-eye is like aiming for the body; even if you miss the heart, with a crossbow…" He looked at me meaningfully as he lit the pipe with a wisp of fire from his armored hand.

Thinking about it didn't take long, "The bolt would still go through armor, maybe hitting a lung or another vital organ, slowing them down," my mentor gave a satisfied 'Hm' as he puffed that pungent stuff, whatever it was, "And would it kill you to lay off that stuff while I'm around? It smells _awful_ ," I waved my hand in front of my face irritably.

My jerk of a mentor just raised an eyebrow and said, "Hmm? Did you say something, _apprentice?_ " Oooh, one of these days!

 **. . . . .  
24** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Blackreach, Sinderion's Redoubt  
. . . . . **

The day had started pleasantly enough: I'd discovered that the curtained room with the steam was actually a bathroom, with sink, toilet and bathtub; so, after taking care of the necessary, Drevas and I settled into a simple breakfast of bread, a boiled egg, some smoked venison and a cup of water.

Once we were…well, not _full_ , but much less hungry, I was directed to wait on the circular rug with Scales while Drevas pulled over what appeared to be an ornate wooden case: it was almost flat, for a box anyway, maybe six inches thick, and around four feet long by one and a half wide, with an adjustable leather strap on the opposite side of the lid; the lid in question depicted a silver tree with bare branches at the 'top', a slender trunk, finishing with roots at the bottom, surrounded by a border of some kind of glowing blue stone, forming a kind of rectangular frame. On one of the sides, below the lid's seam, had what looked like small drawers like little squares, but without handles. On the branches side, between the edge and the blue border, there was a thumb dial and a button, both made of Dwemer metal.

He laid it on the carpet between us as I scratched Scales behind his fringe, "What is it?" I asked.

"This," my rescuer grinned, "is a device that a Telvanni wizard made based on a Dwemer schematic he found in a ruin on Vvardenfell, which you'll be learning about shortly. It's called a Tonal Toolbox, and is quite the amazing bit of artifice."

He then reached down to his belt, which had a color-coded brass dial on it, and turned the pointer to white; a _clink_ emitted from the Toolbox, "Now," he continued, as I listened raptly, "what I just did was deactivate the box's 'traveling' mode and put it into 'safe' mode, which means I can now safely add, remove, or sort whatever items I've placed in it since it was last opened, even though it sorts most things on its own. It won't do much of anything, otherwise."

"But it looks so _thin_ ," I remarked, "How much can you fit in it?" I assumed magic was involved here, and was not disappointed.

Drevas smiled, saying, "I'm not _entirely_ sure, actually, seeing as it uses something called 'spatial partitioning' to place different items into different…compartments, I suppose?" He looked at the box with a confused expression before turning back to me, "I don't really know _how_ it functions, you see, only that it _does_ ; the thumb dial, here, adjusts which compartment is under the lid; the button below it resorts the contents into a vertical shelf, then opens the lid and extends the shelf for easy access." He then started turning the dial, while I looked on in awe.

Seriously! A box that can carry whatever you might need, even sort your luggage for you!? That's amazing! "You didn't answer my question, you know," I reminded Drevas with a smile, and Scales gave some huffs that sounded like chuckling.

He stopped turning the dial, which made a little _clunk_ each time it went past a…setting, I guess, before looking at me with a bemused expression, "I said I'm not sure, didn't I? Peace," he held up a hand to keep me from going off on him, "What I mean is, I haven't found out just how much of any one thing it can hold; currently, I have _scores_ of arrows, enough potions to bring someone back from the brink of death if necessary, several changes of clothes, enough food to last us another week if we ration it, an apothecary's wet dream in potion ingredients, even an _entire dining room table_ , taken apart of course, with chairs for twenty and a complete silver service." Drevas paused to take a breath while I gaped disbelievingly at him, "All that and more that I _haven't_ mentioned, and this case only weighs _ten pounds_."

Scales lifted his head, placed his beak under my chin, and closed my mouth, much to the Dunmer's amusement. "Wha-how-huh?! That's not funny!" Scales just chuckled at me while hopping onto the bed to relax. "I mean," c'mon, get it together Granger, "I know there's things like Featherweight Charms and Spatial Expansion runic enchantments, but I've never even _heard_ of something _this_ advanced!"

He smile turned a little sad as he explained: "I'm not surprised; even if you had grown up in this world, unless you saw me, you'd never even see one of these. The Telvanni wizard I mentioned only made three, and, as far as I know, he still has the other two. But," his smile was bright again, "enough explanations; it's time to read!" And he _pushed the button_.

The lid of the Toolbox popped open, immediately followed by a bookshelf expanding from its apparently shallow depths to a height of about six feet; I looked in amazement at the contents: dozens of hardcover volumes in a chaotic kaleidoscope of colors pressed tightly against each other on the top three rows, over a plethora of leather-bound journals stacked haphazardly on a shelf next to a drawer with ' _Letters_ ' written on the front; below these, on the bottom two shelves, was another, more organized, rainbow of books, going from purple to red, all of which were slightly glowing.

Drevas began selecting books from the top three rows while I stared in wonder at this _portable library_! Was I actually dead, but in-no, Harry would be in Heaven. Purgatory, maybe? No, there wouldn't be _books_! "You alright, lass?" Oh, right, Drevas looks worried, probably because I looked like I might collapse from sheer joy.

"Um, yeah…just… _wow, you have a portable library_ ," I whispered in total awe; yeah, I could _not_ get over that.

He raised an eyebrow, before deadpanning, "Yes, and an entire house's worth of stuff aside," he handed me a heavy stack of books, about twelve of them, "Now," he said as I tried to balance the treasures he'd just handed me, "I have to finish crafting you some armor, so _you_ sit on the bed and read until I tell you to stop."

"Yes, _sir!_ " I said happily; I set down the stack next to a dozing Scales, plucked _Provinces of Tamriel_ off the top, and settled onto Scales' back for some hardcore _learning_!

 **. . . . .**

A few hours later, I closed _Fauna of Tamriel: A Comprehensive Bestiary of the Empire, Third Edition_ , the last book in the pile, and looked at Drevas, still tapping away at something on the workbench, feeling troubled.

The twelve books he'd given me were, in order, two books on geography, one of Tamriel and one of Skyrim; four books of historical timelines (two volumes for the First Age) concerning this world's _four and a half thousand years_ of history; three treatises on various subjects (necromancy, the Dwemer, and general magic); a book about politics that was dry as dust; a guidebook to social decorum, which included three whole chapters on various religions; and the bestiary that I'd just read. All of them, alone, were quite informative and left me feeling like I understood this world a little better; taken together, on the other hand…

 _There was something fundamentally wrong with the world_.

I cleared my throat and called, "Drevas?"

"Mm?" he replied, not looking up from examining some bit of metal.

"Is it safe for me to go outside?" he looked at me quizzically. "I just feel like stretching my legs, getting some air, you know?" I bit my lip, hoping he'd give permission.

He kept his gaze on me for a moment, like he was trying to read my thoughts, before reaching down next to the bench he was working at and producing a pair of brown leather boots, knee-high with buckles around the shins, "I don't know about ' _getting air_ ', as it's pretty stale out there, but you can go outside. Just don't stray too far from the building, okay?" I nodded as I took the boots, sitting on the carpet to pull them on. "I should have a cloak in the Toolbox, seeing as yours is ruined; all that blood, the Falmer are sure to smell-"

"I'll take care of that," I cut across him, drawing my wand and pointing it at my bloodstained clothes, " _Tergeo_." The dried blood was siphoned away from the pile in a red-brown cloud, coming to rest in a neat pile near me; I was numbly surprised for a second by the amount of blood, _my blood_ , which had been on my clothes. It formed a pile 3 inches high and almost a foot across. I shuddered, thinking about how close I must have been to dying, " _Evanesco_ ," and Vanished it.

As I was pulling my now clean cloak on, I noticed Drevas staring at me, red eyes widened in surprise. I chuckled sheepishly, while doing a mental tally: ' _Hermione: 1, Drevas: … okay, also 1. That Toolbox_ is _pretty amazing_.' "What?" I asked nervously.

He shook his head, replying, "Just wondering if there's anything that stick,-"" _Wand!_ " "-whatever, of yours _can't_ do." Drevas seemed to think for a moment, brow furrowed, before he sharply said, "Scales." The clannfear snapped to attention on the bed. "Go with her. He'll keep the Falmer away from you," he added to me as Scales moved to my side, the lizard's crest coming up to my shoulder. "For some reason, they _really_ don't like clannfear, and usually run away whenever they smell one. All the same, be wary." Then he went back to, apparently, cobbling pieces of metal and leather together to make me some armor.

I patted Scales on his back, tucked my wand into a pocket inside my robes, and opened the door.

 **. . . . .**

He was right; the air _was_ stale out here. Whatever. It was quiet, and I needed to think.

Scales took one look at me, huffed, and began trotting towards a huge gateway with equally huge doors, a hundred yards away; they honestly looked _tiny_ compared to the absolutely **massive** wall they were set into. I followed as best as I was able with my still sort of stiff legs, stretching my arms, slowly getting feeling back into my limbs, and thinking about my situation.

It was odd, that I was missing so many memories, yet was still capable of perfect speech and cognition. In addition, there was all the knowledge of magic that I'd apparently amassed over the years: charms theory, runic languages, magic arithmetical calculations, potions recipes, defense textbooks, divination techniques (which seemed a bit wooly, but I couldn't discount them, especially now), even transfiguration spells; all of it was up there, meticulously catalogued in my thoughts with the care of…well, of a dedicated researcher. Was I an apprentice to some great sorcerer? A gifted student, perhaps?

Then there were the memories of one Harry Potter, who I seemed to be very close to. While not as detailed as my magical memories, just thinking his name caused me to blush. I couldn't remember how I met him, nor any of what we did to become so close, but Harry was the only other thing I could remember about my old life; everything else was a blurry swirl of color and white noise. A particular memory, of the two of us on a couch, his head in my lap, my fingers running through his gorgeous black hair…his beautiful green eyes locked _lovingly with mine_ …a small smile playing on his lips…Scales, in front, was looking at me weirdly. Probably because I had a goofy grin plastered on my face! Shaking my head to clear the happy distraction, I sat on the bottom step of the staircase before the gate, resting my chin on my knee and looking listlessly at Blackreach while Scales sniffed about.

' _So I love him_ ,' I thought, ' _Even though I can't remember how we met or what led up to it, I know that fact instinctually_.' My brain was telling me that didn't make sense, but my heart _ached_ at that thought. ' _What does my brain know, anyway? It can't even remember my parents, or anyone else for that matter. If for nothing else, I need to find a way back to Harry. He must be so worried about me_.' My last memory, a brown and black swirl of fear, with Harry's voice raised in fury at someone else, was what decided me last night on my path, and I would _not waver_.

Still, the question of _how I got here in the first place_ seemed like the key to getting home, much to my frustration. I mentally set it aside, but kept it at the ready should some clue arise. The next question was more…immediate to the situation at hand. Specifically, the Falmer, the Dwemer, and Blackreach itself.

From my studies, I now knew that Blackreach and everything in it were created by the long-vanished Dwemer, the Deep Elves. The Falmer were one thing: the books more or less reported them as being especially violent, semi-sentient creatures. What grabbed my attention was that the Dwemer security systems, traps and automatons for instance, were not only still active, but were capable of _building more automatons to replace any that were destroyed_. How did such an advanced race simply _vanish_ , apparently for no reason at all? As haunting as that thought was, it begged another, perhaps more sinister, question: if the security systems are still active, _why are the Falmer still around_?

"Ugh, even with all the history I just read, I just have more questions," I grumbled, playing with what was left of my hair. Hm. I had just enough to pull a few strands over the scars on my brow and temple. I don't know why, but I felt self-conscious about my marred face. "Not like it matters. If anything, it says I'm a survivor." I nodded, deciding to ask Drevas about the security issue, on top of clarifying what exactly the Falmer _were_ , and stood up to return to the house. That's when I saw it.

Over a ridge nearby, a pale humanoid creature ambled over, crouched low to the ground and looking like a nightmare made flesh. ' _So this is a Falmer_.' Its skin looked waxy and dead, sharp teeth glinting in the low light from phosphorescent fungi, its hand gripping a cruel-looking sword. Its sightless head turned toward me, sniffing the air; it growled, and began coming at me surprisingly quickly, given its hunched form.

Scales let out a snarl as I drew my wand, which made the Falmer hesitate, but only for a second before it resumed its charge. That second was all I needed. This was one of the creatures that had taken my memories from me, had tried to _kill me_ , and was now making another attempt. ' _I don't think so, arsehole_.' I aimed my wand at the center of its bowed torso.

" _Reducto!_ " I shouted, the silver spell zipping from my wand almost before I finished the incantation. It crashed into the Falmer's chest…

And _blew it apart in a shower of gore_.

I watched in horrified shock as one of its arms flew off into a ditch next to the road which ran in front of the house, its bottom half slumping as lifeless legs gave out, blood and partially charred organs sloshing onto the ground.

' _Oh_ ,' I thought numbly, ' _right…blasting curse…_ ' I stood there with Scales for a moment, in shock at what I'd just done, before he chuffed and poked my side with his beak. I looked at him, whispering, "What?" The clannfear looked at the house, before turning an expectant look on me. "Oh, yeah…we should go back in…before more show up, huh?" And Scales _nodded_ before circling around and pushing me, "Okay! I'm going!"

I moved back to the house more quickly than I had left, keeping my wand out and looking around nervously as I went, in case any more of the creatures showed up; Scales kept pace just behind me, only stopping to… _mark his territory_ …on a boulder next to the road, near the house. As I waited on the bottom step, taking one last look around, I felt a pressure build behind my eyes.

" _Ah…ow…_ " it was still building! I felt like my head would burst any second, " _Gaaaahhhh!_ " I moaned, crumpling to the ground as Scales let out a startled shriek-

 **. . . . .**

 _There was a broken arrow in my leg, a pool of blood, mirror black in the cavern's low light, spreading from the wound._

 _My head swiveled up, sight blurring, to a heavily armored Falmer, axe held backhand, about to strike me down._

 _Then I heard a sound, metal grinding on stone._ 'The door to the house!' _I thought,_ 'This must be from when Drevas saved me!'

 _The creature struck; an explosion of pain ran from my temple across my face as everything went red-_

 ** _And I was standing in a covered porch, in a snowy park, my arms around Harry's neck. Our lips pressed together shyly-_**

 **. . . . .**

I was in the house, lying on the rug in front of the fireplace and looking up into Drevas' worried face, as something warm trickling down my cheek from my nose. "…Hey." I said lamely.

"Thank the _Nine_ , girl," Drevas breathed, "You had me worried something fierce." He gently helped me sit up, handing me a reasonably clean rag. I wiped my face, glancing at Scales, who had just come up on my left, a look of…worry?...in his blue eyes. "Scales dragged you in after you collapsed," elaborated Drevas, "You were convulsing, eyes rolling, and spouting gibberish; are you alright?"

I looked down at the now slightly bloody rag, considering how I felt _physically_ , as I was still pretty shaken mentally, before answering, "Yeah…I feel fine. A little sore in my nose, but…" ' _Should I tell him?...Well, he_ did _save me from…that._ ' "I remember…the blow that took my memories." I looked up at the old Dunmer, who looked…disappointed?! "What? Isn't that good?!" I snapped.

He shook his head, clarifying, "Of course it is, sorry; any memory recall, no matter what the content is, means your brain has started repairing itself, so your amnesia might resolve itself soon. Maybe," Okay, but that doesn't explain- "I'm just, well…we already _know_ how you lost your memories; I was hoping you'd remember how you got here in the first place, see?" Oh.

Scales licked my face, before lying with his head on my lap as Drevas grumbled something from where he knelt in front of me. Smiling sheepishly, I tried to make light of it all, "You're being pretty cavalier about all this; are you in the business of rescuing young ladies from other worlds often, then?"

" _Ha-Ha_ , lass," deadpanned the Dunmer, "Actually…" Oh crap, he looked as nervous as I felt! "While rescuing young lasses from alternate dimensions isn't something I partake in…I'm old, and well-travelled; there are plenty of things _not_ written down in _any_ book, that haven't been sketched out, let alone _described_ ; and I've seen…quite a lot of…things like that…in my long life," his eyes were far away as he spoke, before he suddenly _grinned roguishly_ at me! "But _you_? Your case is unique; I've never heard even a whisper of something like this even being _possible_. Hence, why I'm not about to tell anyone about it; I know better than to do something so stupid." He got up, and spooned out some leftover stew from the cooking pot, while I absently stroked Scales' snout and digested his words as we ate in silence. Then, I remembered something else.

"I killed a Falmer," my voice was quiet, but Drevas still froze where he was about to get up to put the dishes away. "Just before…yeah…" Why did I feel so bad about it? It was going to kill me!

"Huh. Must have triggered your sudden memory recall," Drevas said. "And from the look on your face, combined with your lack of injuries, I'd say you found it remarkably easy?"

"Why do _I regret it?!_ " my voice became shrill; Scales withdrew from my lap and closer to the fire, while Drevas continued to look at me with interest, " _It was going to_ _ **kill**_ _me! Or-or try to, at least! But yes!_ " I glared at Drevas, who was still so damnably calm! "It _was_ easy! And **_horrifying_**! I blew that poor thing to _pieces_ , and-"

He cut across my building rant with a calm, certain voice, "What you are feeling is called _pity_ , Hermione; a natural response when one individual, generally one who is privileged with great power or social status, along with a capacity for compassion, encounters another individual, or group thereof, who are powerless before it." He shrugged as I gaped, continuing in the same tone, "In my opinion, it's good that you're feeling that, seeing as it's a good sign that you're neither a monster or irresponsible; after all, killing _anything at all_ taints the soul. It can be worse, actually, when you don't understand _what_ you are killing, or," and he fixed me with a hard look, "why that killing is _necessary_."

"It's _necessary_?! How can killing something, by your logic, be _necessary_?!" I couldn't believe how callous my rescuer was in regard to something as horrible as killing! "They have no chance, right? So I shouldn't use lethal spells!"

" _Wrong_ ," his voice was iron, "Your conclusions, which include your _pity_ , are born of _ignorance_. Remember what I told you yesterday: beyond that door, _expect no mercy_."

Oh, I was _ignorant_ , was I? "Enlighten me, then," I snarled, which earned me an unimpressed look, but I soldiered on, "If I pity them, why _shouldn't_ I have mercy on them?" And I folded my arms, waiting for his response.

He let out a huge sigh, seeming to age before my eyes; he didn't _seem_ young to my eyes, what with his lack of wrinkles and his strong yet raspy voice…but then I remembered that he was a _century and a half old_. That didn't excuse his words, not in my book, and I kept my glare fixed on him.

Then Drevas' hand lit up in an orange light. An identical light surrounded a bucket next to the door, before it floated over to his hand. He then placed it in front of my crossed legs. "What's that for?" I asked waspishly.

"You might need that in a moment," Drevas of Mournhold replied in a tired, patient voice, eyes dark, a frown on his face, "seeing as I'm about to tell you something about the Falmer and the Dwemer that isn't written in any book for two reasons: one, there are only two living people who know this story in full, and I'm one of them; and two, because when it comes to history, Hermione, most people who write books about it may have experience and learning in the matters they relate, so they spin good stories, but they _don't_ _know what really happened_ , and, between myself and that other person, we'd like to keep it that way, because _the truth is worse_."

I felt a thrill of apprehension when he finished, almost dreading such a story. Glancing at the bucket, I thought, ' _Does he think I'm going to spew? Tch, bring it on._ ' I kept my glare in place as I nodded for him to continue. Drevas nodded back, before beginning to speak:

"Before I begin," I huffed, but then he snapped, " _Shut it, girl_." I recoiled from the coldness in his tone, but kept my mouth wisely shut; his glare, which made his features seem like they'd been cut from the hardest of stone, softened, then, "You seem like a very intelligent young woman, so think about the question before you answer: after all you've read, have you not seen the most obvious clue as to what the Falmer are?"

What? What did he…wait…Dwe _mer_ …Dun _mer_...Alt _mer_ , Bos _mer_ , Oris _mer_ … ** _FAL_** ** _MER_**. No. No, that can't be… _Can it_? "They're…but you're not…" But he'd noticed, probably from my facial expression changing from confusion, to horror, and finally disbelief, seeing as he _nodded_. ' **No.** '

"They were elves, once," Drevas began solemnly, "In fact, you've already read about them; in the _First Era Timeline: Volume One_ , the first chapter relates the legends from before the First Era began, and mentions how Ysgramor and the Army of Atmora drove the native elves from Skyrim, establishing it as a kingdom; the Snow Elves are the race the book speaks of, the sixth house of the Mer. According to Nordic legend, Ysgramor's army defeated the main Snow Elf force, killing the elven leader, now known only as The Snow Prince, and drove them out of the land; what isn't usually spoken of in this legend are the three hundred or so years of genocide that followed, where Nordic warbands would go out on hunts, find Snow Elf redoubts, and murder everyone within…even the children." He paused, eyes narrowing, as though he was trying to remember what came next. "What you'll only find in select books, none of which I have on hand, is that the Nords didn't kill all the elves in that battle or the resultant mass-killings; most of the surviving Snow Elves escaped the slaughter of their people by seeking refuge with the only other race that had populated Skyrim in those days: the Dwemer. No one saw them again, officially, for over a thousand years."

He paused to take a sip of water, " _Un_ officially, I have it on good authority that the ancient Dunmer, the Chimer, attacked Red Mountain in 1E700 for another reason beyond that Heart of Lorkhan business. You see, House Dagoth, in its efforts to discover what the Dwemer were planning to do with the Heart, discovered that the Dwemer were using hideous creatures to preform most of the hard labor; curious as to where they came from, the agents of H. Dagoth managed to smuggle the corpse of one of the creatures to the surface, where it was handed off to a crack team of H. Redoran soldiers, who then delivered it to a H. Telvanni master wizard for study. What makes this part of the story so important is the fact that the person who told me this, as they lay dying, had _five years_ of unlimited access to H. Telvanni's archives, _and_ had the confidence and friendship of Divayth Fyr, a _four thousand year old_ member of that house; yet, beyond Master Divayth's word, _she could find no evidence of such a mission ever occurring_."

I swallowed, tentatively asking, "And…you trust _her_ word?"

"Given the fact that she was the Nerevarine? Yes."

 _I felt cold_. ' _No,_ _ **please no, it can't be true**_.'

Drevas continued, speaking near a whisper, as though we could be eavesdropped upon, "Despite there being no record of such research, Divayth reported that he was one of the apprentices who examined the body in question. According to him, his team found that the creatures were, in fact, elves of an unknown species; this, apparently, was enough for the Great Council to make preparations for war. When Dagoth Ur reported the use of the Heart in 'unholy' experiments, the Council deduced that the Dwemer had been kidnapping various elves and corrupting them with the Heart, making them slaves. They went to Red Mountain to demand the Dwarves' surrender, and the rest is history. Except, that none of these abominations were found at Red Mountain by the council forces; because of this, the corpse that was examined was declared an abomination of House Dagoth by the early Tribunal and all records of its examination destroyed. One Dwarf, however, _did_ survive the destruction of his people, and was granted exceptionally long life, though this was partly because he was plagued by the Corpus blight; he lived in Tel Fyr's basement, and, close to the end of his long life, told the Nerevarine to, quote, " _Search the sands for the truth_ ," unquote. She had no idea what he meant, at the time, as he was quite delirious by then.

"Now, it's commonly been believed that the Falmer _are_ the Snow Elves for centuries, but no one has ever been able to prove it beyond a doubt; the Nerevarine had a lead, but she never followed it up. Other adventurers have entered Blackreach before us, but most of them either die down here or become slightly mad from the experience…like that fellow who reported the Snow Elves were forced to eat the glowing mushrooms down here, and that's how they became the Falmer. He also said they're planning to retake the surface world, which is of course ludicrous; what _I_ think happened was that the bloke got hungry and ate a piece of one of the mushrooms, which Sinderion stated in his journal were 'dangerously hallucinogenic'. No, Hermione, the truth was _indeed_ hidden in the sands: the deserts of Elsweyr.

"A few years after the Nerevarine, a few trusted friends and I went looking for the truth in the more inhospitable regions of that country. It was actually rather easy; we found a Dwemer ruin after only a month of searching, one which wasn't on any map. Most of it was beneath the desert, but we were able to enter from a tower extending above the sands; deep underground, after countless traps and automatons, inside a sealed laboratory untainted by Falmer or time, behind the door of a safe with _the. Toughest. Lock. I. Have. Ever. Picked…_ was a journal, which I deciphered from Dwemer (don't look so surprised, it's not that hard to learn), and learned that much of it was an account of the Snow Elves' exodus. It was…well, it was horrifying. The Dwemer told the Snow Elves they would provide them with refuge, on one condition: they would have to surrender their sight, so they couldn't reveal the secrets of the Dwemer to anyone, when the day came that the Snow Elves could return to the surface. In desperation, they agreed."

Drevas paused, picking up his cup and gazing into the water with an unreadable expression; meanwhile, I'd already arrived at the conclusion that the Snow Elves _were indeed_ the Falmer. The implications were terrifying and, curse my inquisitive mind, I wondered how they became the way they were: feral, hideous creatures. Years later, lying awake at night, I would sometimes wonder if I should have stopped the story there, if I would have been better off not knowing the truth.

But that day, deep in Blackreach, Drevas went on, eyes not leaving his cup, while I sat in stunned silence, rapt with attention, " _They were betrayed_. According to that journal, the Dwarf who wrote it, long before the Snow Elves sought refuge, had done experiments into soul manipulation; that is, whether or not Black Souls, the souls of sentient beings like you or I, could be altered into White Souls, or the souls of animals, like Scales here." The clannfear huffed indignantly, but didn't look away from the fire he'd been staring at the whole time. "The Dwarf also wanted to find how to do it the other way around, White to Black, but his superiors overruled him, because of politics or something. Anyway, he discovered how to do it, change Black to White, using a _very_ _specific_ alchemical brewing technique, which I…studied…and in doing so found that virtually _any_ Alchemist, even a novice to the art, could craft the potion easily…so long as they had the right equipment and about half a Septim's worth of common ingredients. Hence, once I'd finished reading it, I burned the journal to ash."

' ** _No._** ' "You know how to make it," it wasn't a question. My voice was weak and shaking with nausea. ' ** _No. Please, Gods, no. Why?_** '

Drevas didn't look up, but went on, "I do, and I plan to take the formula to my grave." He took a sip, and concluded the story, "The journal said they took the Snow Elves, one by one, and gave them a cup of the potion. Once they drank it, either willingly or _forced to do so_ ," words cannot describe the hate and disgust in his tone when he said that, "they were isolated until the 'process was complete'; every single Snow Elf that went to the Dwemer was changed in this way. An entire race of Mer, their music, history, magic, language, and culture…wiped out in the span of a year…because the Dwemer leadership wanted slaves that could not even comprehend the _idea_ of rebellion. The Falmer, creatures which kill or enslave anyone they come across, **_used to be_** the Snow Elves." Drevas' eyes, filled with cold understanding, rose to meet my sickened ones, finishing, "So if you pity them, Hermione, then be merciful, and _kill every Falmer you see_."

I grabbed the bucket and _heaved_ , spewing up my half-digested lunch and bile; when nothing was left, I kept dry-heaving, my body and mind sickened beyond reason. It was only when Drevas pulled the bucket away, I realized I wasn't heaving. I was sobbing. It was too horrible! I couldn't even imagine having such callous disregard for another people! _How could the Dwemer be so CRUEL?!_

Finally, after a few minutes, I found my voice, " _WHY!? HOW COULD THEY DO THAT?! And those,"_ I scoffed "- ** _books_** , _they talk about the Dwemer like they're were THE GREATEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED, LIKE THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER IF THEY WERE STILL AROUND!_ " I stood angrily, throwing my half-drank cup into the fire, trying and failing to find my composure. I hissed at Drevas without looking at him, " _Why have you told no one this_?"

He produced a pipe, filling it with some kind of mossy substance, "Your reaction should be answer enough," Drevas replied nonchalantly. If I hadn't been so angry, I would have detected the edge in his tone.

I whirled to face the seated Dunmer, another screaming rant on the tip of my tongue.

But he overrode me with a voice like steel: "How _you've_ reacted is an example of how the **smart** people would act, if they knew. You've read about what this world is like, _girl_. It's far from a pretty place half the time. Now imagine what it would be like if _Mannimarco_ knew what I did about the Falmer potion."

My mouth shut with a _click_. Oh…still, this was a matter of historical record! "That's…But…"

" _But nothing_ ," Drevas growled, standing. I was stunned, for a second, by the cold certainty of his tone. It was then I realized that he was _pissed_ , "If for no other reason, I haven't told anyone this story to anyone in power for the same reason I won't **ever** , _even on my deathbed_ , reveal your origins: because if they knew, _they'd do something colossally_ _ **stupid**_ with the information. The last time knowledge better left buried ended up in the wrong hands, we had the Oblivion Crisis, _and that was_ _just Daedra_. Or is the fucking **King of Worms** not enough of a _corpse-humping_ _n'wah_ for your sensibilities?!" Then he roared, " _WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD HAPPEN IF THE FUCKING_ _ **THALMOR**_ _GOT THEIR HANDS ON THE FALMER POTION?!_ **"** He turned, picked up his mace, and strode out the door into Blackreach, slamming the door behind him.

…

…

…Scales chuckled.

"Not funny, mate," I said quietly.

 **. . . . .**

He was sitting on a boulder near the road, puffs of smoke rising from his pipe, face neutral and mace lying against the rock, staring at the inner cavern.

' _Well, here goes nothing,_ ' I began walking toward him, looking about first to make sure there were no Falmer about. Scales, who'd come out with me, slunk off toward the gatehouse to sniff around. As I got closer, I smelled something that made my brain go ' _SKUNK!_ ' Whatever _that_ was…Not like it matters what was in that pipe, I needed to fix this!

When I got close enough to Drevas to speak without raising my voice, he spoke, "I'm sorry for screaming at you, Hermione. We're both feeling culture shock, and…well, it's…been awhile since I've spoken of… _those_ matters, and I have quite a few bad memories related to how I found all that out, you see."

"No, _I_ apologize," I began earnestly, "This is your world, and, given your age and experience…I should have respected your judgment instead of arguing with you, especially about something I didn't understand."

"If the young didn't argue with the old, how would a master ever learn from their apprentice?" Drevas gave me a warm smile, which I tentatively returned, not really following his logic.

"Err; shouldn't it be the other way around, Drevas?"

"It goes both ways: master to apprentice, and the knowledge gets passed on; apprentice to master and the master learns new ways of looking at his work, because of the _relationship_ that gets forged between them. A new perspective usually results in progress, if you follow me?"

' _Huh. I never thought of it that way_.' I nodded in agreement. Nervously, I toed the ground, glanced at Scales, and drawled, "Sooo, about that crossbow…"

Drevas chuckled quietly, "Sure, I'll teach you how to shoot. _But_ ," he looked at me with an intensity that seemed…familiar, somehow, "I expect you to take this training seriously. It would be a shame if I went through the trouble of teaching you, only for you to die due to overconfidence."

I wasn't having any of that, "See this?" I asked, jerking a thumb at the badge on my robes, "It's a badge, for something called Gryffindor. Harry had one on his robes, too. It says Honor, Courage, and Discipline. So I won't back down, I'll master whatever you have to teach me, and I'll do whatever it takes…so long as you help me get back home." I held out my hand with a smile.

He looked at my hand, then at me, before smiling himself. "Very well," he stood, and took my hand, "From this moment forward, Hermione Granger, you're my apprentice, meaning your life is now my responsibility, and I'll do all I can within my power to help you find a way home." His grip tightened momentarily, but his smile didn't fade.

My smile grew, before I replied, "Please take care of me, Master Drevas."

 **. . . . .**

The rest of the day was spent in the house, with Drevas showing me how to load, aim and fire the Dwemer crossbow. Without ammunition, of course; neither of us wanted to run the risk of breaking something with a misfire.

"Keep one hand under the body," he instructed, "then pull the lever on the right, there. That activates a small steam engine attached to a pulley system, which pulls the bowstring into place."

I did as he said, before asking, "What if I need to manually pull the bowstring?"

"If the bowstrings break, which _shouldn't_ happen, then throw the crossbow away and start spelling everything that tries to kill you." I looked at him in surprise. "I mean it; the inner workings of the crossbow are unlikely to break, so the only reason it shouldn't work is if the bow itself snaps."

After that, it was a simple matter of getting used to loading and shooting, repeating a dry run with the bow over and over again: pull lever to set bow, quickly move hand from lever to quiver to bolt cradle, brace crossbow against shoulder, aim using the ladders at the end of the bow, tap firing lever in the stock to shoot. Repeat as necessary. Once I had done that for a good hour or so, I read the book he'd given me on what this crossbow was capable of, including a few more tips on shooting. No idea who she is, but this Sorine Jurard really knows her stuff.

While I was doing that, Drevas donned his cuirass and gauntlets, the same black material as his boots and greaves, collected the Toolbox and set out into Blackreach to 'set up a firing range'. When he returned, hours later, with a smear of blood on his chest and white paint on his gauntlets (the wand saves the day again!), he reported that we should be good for target practice the next day; I hurriedly went to sleep, after dinner and washing up for the night, of course; my reasoning was the need to get firing this crossbow down quickly, so I could move on to my other goals, like escaping Blackreach.

Which brings me to two days later: standing out in Blackreach, having just finished my latest firing drill, with Scales watching the perimeter (he had already chased off three Falmer, and killed one, alleviating my worries that he was no use in a fight), Drevas being his usual flippant self, and me standing there, in full kit, trying not to verbally tear into him.

My mentor told me, when he gave me the armor, that he was no smith, but he _did_ have a good eye for someone's size. Gone were the canvas tunic and skirt, replaced by a burgundy leather cuirass with a brown hood and woolen scarf; a pauldron covered my left shoulder, attaching at my left breast and back to a steel breastplate for maximum protection. Brown leather pants with a utility belt containing a small knife, compass, a wand holster made from Dwemer metal, and pocket spyglass, along with thick, studded leather gloves completed the look of a young explorer; I kept the boots from several days ago, only adding a hidden dagger made of some green material Drevas had given me, just in case. My hair now covered my right brow and part of that eye, sticking up wildly everywhere else, though the hood would hide that. Combined with the determined look in my eyes, I must have looked rather dashing; Master Drevas just said I was adorable, the arse.

Presently, my mentor knocked out the ashes from his pipe, drawling, "Well, you're as good as you'll get without field experience, and I've honestly had my fill of this musty cavern." He stood, stretching, while I looked on with no small amount of anticipation. "So let's get some food in us, pack, and leave this fetid hole." I couldn't agree more.

 **. . . . .  
Evening, 26** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Blackreach**  
 **. . . . .**

We moved to the right after leaving the house, weapons drawn and eyes alert, following the road which curved into Blackreach proper. As we reached the craggy rocks marking the border between our territory and the gloomy expanse of the cavern, Drevas motioned us to a halt. Scales, continuing to follow my mentor's direction, kept close by my right side.

Then, Drevas whispered something odd, " ** _Laas Yah!_** " I felt an odd sensation, starting in my throat and running to my core, as wisps of purple light left my mentor's lips and pooled about his eyes. He looked around while I tried to figure out what that sensation was.

"Alright," he spoke quietly, not taking his eyes off Blackreach, "our destination is nearly on the opposite side of the cavern, nearly three miles away, somewhere to the left of that huge lantern. There's two Falmer on the left, just past the closest structure, there," he pointed with his bow to a ruin, not far from the road I presumed we'd be traveling. "You take one, I'll take the other, and then I'll take the one skulking about in that copse of mushrooms on the right. We'll ignore the road, as it leads to that other building, which is crawling with the bastards; so we'll go left. Our first stop is the crags next to the huge purple mushroom in the center, see it?"

I nodded, as it was kind of hard to miss, whispering, "And then?"

He nocked an arrow, "Then we'll go around the left side of the crags, hugging the wall, and it should be a simple matter of following the pass, around the bend to the bridge, then to the exit." My mentor looked down at Scales and I, "Scales already knows, and you're smart enough to know better, but I'll say it anyway: _do not raise your voice or cry out, no matter what_. There are _a lot_ of Falmer down here." And he began moving down the hill, Scales and I only half a step behind.

Minutes later, I saw the two Falmer he'd mentioned, lurking about on a ramp. I raised my crossbow quickly, took a breath, adjusted my aim, and fired, all in the span of two seconds. Drevas loosed his arrow only a split second later. Both of them dropped, dead without a sound. Another _hiss-shik!_ And we were creeping toward the crags at speed, keeping one eye on the building Drevas had said was full of Falmer.

An age later, we were hunkering down behind an outcrop that shielded us from the threat-filled building, so I took the opportunity to reload. ' _I wish this thing could do that itself…I'll look into that later._ '

" ** _Laas Yah!_** " whispered Drevas. And there was that weird sensation again!

"What _is_ that?" I asked as quietly as I could.

After looking about carefully for a moment, he whispered back, "When we're out of here." He set another arrow on his bowstring. "Three low on the left, two high on the right, just around the next bend. Which do you want?"

Tough choice. I was better at firing from elevation; less of a chance for gravity to screw up my shot. But three? Without alerting the whole mountain? Hmm…Oh! "I'll take the left."

My mentor raised an eyebrow, "Are you _sure_?"

I nodded, "I take two of them while Scales takes the third." The clannfear in question perked up, probably itching for some action. From the look on Drevas' face, he was impressed.

And he nodded, adding, "Don't miss." We moved.

Scales vanished from my side as I reached my appointed ridge.

Three Falmer around a small fire.

 _Ready. Aim. Fire._

One down with a wet gasp; Scales bursting silently from the shadows onto number two. _Load._

Number two dies to a brutal peck. _Aim._ Number three distracted by Scales' appearance. _Fire._

Number three goes down with a gurgle, _load_ , whirl to check on master.

As he whirled, bow at the ready, to check on me.

I nodded at him, affirming my success; he nodded back, and began moving closer to the end of the pass, lit as it was with yellow light. Scales appeared at my side, beak bloody. A quietly cast Cleaning Charm fixed that, before we moved to join Drevas further up the rocky pass. Before us, on the right, was the huge sun lantern, hanging over a truly massive citadel. I could see black shapes moving about on its crumbling walls, ' _We better not be going there_.'

Another " ** _Lass Yah!_** " sent a further thrill through me, like a light shock. Seriously, what _was_ that?! Some kind of exceptionally potent spell?

"Okay," my mentor sounded worried. That can't be good… "Our way is mostly clear; out of this pass to the left, hugging the crags. There's one squad of eight left to go, just off the road to the right," so _that_ was what had him worried, "then over a bridge, and out of this place." I looked at him, the purple giving way to stern red.

" _Eight_." My whisper was as disgusted as it was flat. Scales _chuffed_ in annoyance next to me.

Drevas nodded seriously, " _Eight_. We can't sneak by them, as they're too close to the road, and they're in cover, so we can't hit them from a distance either. The only way I can see is a direct confrontation, but if _they_ cry out…The Falmer over _there,_ " he gestured toward the citadel, "will hear us, and we bring the whole cave down on us; which would be suicide, as we're still a little more than a mile away from the tower."

" _Shite_." I swore, thinking furiously. There must be a way…Of course! They can't cry out if they _have no voices_! I smiled, which caused my mentor to cock his head. "I know a charm to silence them. I might be a bit light-headed afterward, though, as I'll have to overpower it…"

But Drevas smiled, "Scales and I can take 'em in close quarters." He holstered his bow and drew that dreadful black hammer of his. "They're in the third copse of mushrooms on the right. Don't miss, lass."

And I didn't; but, forgive me; I'd rather not relate just what _exactly_ Drevas and Scales did to the group of silenced Falmer, only that the creature's defeat was as completely one-sided as it was gruesome to watch. It really drove home just how dangerous clannfear could be. Also, I resolved to _never_ get on my master's bad side, lest I get the business end of that mace. That Falmer must have sailed _ten bloody feet_ -ahem. Sorry, getting off track.

Anyway, once I had my breath back (and cleaned the blood and gore off my companions), we continued at a more leisurely pace to a bridge which, according to my master, would see us out of this dreadful place. As we came up to it, however, Drevas suddenly froze. "Master? What is it?" I looked about for other threats, coming up empty, thank the gods.

But he pointed to the bridge itself: "Up there. See that arch of Dwemer metal sticking up?" Squinting, I _could_ see a pointed arch, sticking up about halfway down the bridge. Once I nodded, he said something that made me go cold, "That's a Centurion Arch. It keeps them from losing power over time, and repairs them should they get damaged. From the steam coming out the sides of the Arch, I'd say there's one in there, ready to defend the bridge against…undesirables. In this case, that'd be us."

Oh, just when I thought we were good to leave, a _bloody buggering Centurion!_ Just reading about these things gave me the willies. "What do we do?" I asked in a quivering whisper, Scales growling at my side. "Can we go around?"

Apparently not. "Not unless that wand of yours can levitate all three of us over a 100-foot wall of rock." I could not, and I told my mentor such. "Nothing for it then; we'll have to fight our way through." He began counting his arrows, coming out of a slot on the short edge of the Toolbox, looking at the bridge grimly as I tried to find an easier way around this problem.

' _Transfigure it? No, too big for me. Then what? Blasting curse? No to that, too much metal…hmm, I wonder…that would be_ really _loud though…Oh, to hell with it!_ ' "Master?" He looked down at me, still grim. "I think I know a spell that can bring it down…but it's _really loud_. Can we make the exit before the Falmer fall on us?"

Once he got over his shock of my knowledge of a spell that could drop a fucking _Centurion_ , he looked thoughtful for a moment, before, "Assuming this spell doesn't tire you out?" I shook my head. "Then yes. That fetcher is halfway across the bridge, the end of which _should_ be a quarter mile from the exit. We'll have to move fast, though."

Three cheers for physical conditioning with Harry! "Last one there is a troll shite?" I snarked with a cheeky grin.

Master Drevas smirked right back, "I may be old, you little s'wit, but I'm hardly out of shape." He turned thoughtful for a moment, "Also, not taking that bet." _'Sod._ ' "Take the lead. At the top of the stairs to the bridge, run right for the other side as fast as you can." I slung the crossbow onto my back, drawing my wand. "Once that fetcher activates, take him down, and then _do not stop for anything_ ; once you're across the bridge, follow the road to the left. Scales and I will be right behind you." I nodded, and we completed the trek to the bridge's stairs.

At the top of the stairs, I took a moment to calm my pounding heart, stuck my head around the corner, ' _bloody hell that thing's_ _ **huge**_ ', and there was the exit off to the left, a tower rising up into Blackreach's ceiling. ' _Now or never_.' I took a deep breath…

And _ran_.

 **Thump. Thump.**

The Centurion stepped out of its arch with a hissing groan.

 **Thump. Thump.**

I stopped, squaring my stance, and pointed my wand at it as the Dwemer animunculus turned to face me. ' _I'm not going to die down here!_ '

 **Thump. Thump.**

" _BOMBARDA MAXIMA_ _!_ " Blue-white sparks struck the machine in the center of its chest.

 **KLAM!** The Centurion's top half _blew apart_ , both its arms flying to either side of the bridge, while the rest was shredded into shrapnel.

' _Whoa_.' All around me, a piercing screech went up. The Falmer were coming. ' ** _RUN!_** ' And run I did.

 **ThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThump**

I was off the bridge. The whole world was screeching, barely heard beyond the pounding of my heart in my ears as I hurried to the opening at the base of the tower.

 **ThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThump**

I leapt through the opening. There's a lever in the floor. Drevas and Scales bolt through the doorway at speed. The screeching is getting _much_ louder.

Drevas grabbed the lever, yanking it to one side. A loud hiss followed and the floor began to quickly rise, cutting off our view of Blackreach and the horde of Falmer pursuing us.

 **ThumpThumpThumpThump…Thump…Thump**

I slumped to my knees, panting, as my heart slowed and adrenaline slowly left my body. Rolling onto my back and regaining some semblance of calm, I realized my mentor was _laughing_. I looked up at him incredulously, "What…could _possibly_ …be funny?!"

Drevas wiped away a tear, and said, "Hermione, I'm laughing because _no one is_ _ **ever**_ going to _believe_ that **you** blew apart a **_fucking Dwemer Centurion_** with ONE SPELL!" And he resumed laughing hysterically.

A few seconds of thought later, I joined him, relieved to have left that nightmare place behind.

The elevator continued its upward journey, taking us closer to the sun.

 **. . . . .  
_\|/_**

 **Sorry, bit of a long Author's Note here. They won't be common.**

 **I don't think it has been said, but this story contains: graphic violence, coarse language, mentions/descriptions of alcohol and drug abuse, racism, speciesism, religious intolerance, social intolerance, as well as graphic depictions of war, rape, necromancy, non-Euclidian horror, cold-blooded murder and** ** _seagulls_** **(*grumbles caustically*).**

 **So, basically, this story will stop just short of MA in terms of rating and content. Consider yourselves warned.**

 **Also, some notices concerning the way this story is written:**

 **After researching the dates of various events, I found that the events which occurred in Helgen, in canon, happened on the 17** **th** **of Last Seed, 4E201, which is almost** ** _five months_** **after the events I'm currently depicting. In this story, Alduin returned on the 5** **th** **of Frostfall, 4E200, or, in the Harry Potter verse, the 5** **th** **of January, 1993 CE, which, in this story anyway, is the day Hermione returns to Hogwarts after Christmas Hols and discovers Harry was gifted a Firebolt anonymously. Not really important, just something I found in the course of researching the Elder Scrolls world for this chapter.**

 **The exact circumstances of the Nerevarine's demise will be addressed at some point…maybe in a separate fic, maybe later in this story. I haven't decided yet.**

 **Hermione is already a no-nonsense badass in canon. She won't be godlike in this story, but…well, applying HP spells to the Elder Scrolls world is just plain** ** _hax_** **. If you think** ** _Defense_** **is overpowered, just wait; I haven't even gotten to the** ** _Transfiguration_** **bits yet!**

 **On a lighter note, thanks to everyone who's followed, favored, and reviewed so far! Love!**

 **Next time: More explanations, a shiny scroll, and** ** _snow_** **.**


	5. Chapter 4: Prophecy of Blood

**If you don't know where the disclaimer is, ask Scales. He knows.**

 **And now…Chapter 4!**

 **. . . . .**

 **_\|/_**

 **Chapter 4:**  
 **Prophecy of Blood**  
 **. . . . .**

 **Date Unknown  
Location Unknown  
. . . . .**

 _My school flats clacked loudly in the empty hallway as I followed the grey tabby cat._

 _The walls seemed to be made both from grey stone and warm light. I felt safe within them._

 _There were picture frames, with no pictures. Only shadows where paintings should be._

 _The cat turned into an open door. I followed. It was a classroom, with rows of worn tables and benches before a large desk. It was all so pleasantly familiar…and unsettlingly_ not _._

 _"Ms. Granger." The cat was gone, replaced by an elderly woman with a severe face and tartan robes. I wasn't surprised, only curious, which was curious in itself._

 _"Professor M…" Whatever her name was came out of my mouth in a ringing hum. Nevertheless, I was smiling._

 _"I'd try to dissuade you from your request to take all the electives," the Professor told me with a tired smile, "but you seemed rather adamant when I visited over the summer, so…" She strode to her desk as I followed, excitement making me shiver._

 _From a drawer, she withdrew a box and placed it carefully on the tableau, as though its contents were extremely volatile, before regarding me sternly, lips pursed. "Given our previous conversation, I won't repeat the risks that come from using this item…Hermione."_

 _I nodded, despite not remembering any such conversation, "I won't be seen using it, ma'am, and I'll be very careful with it."_

 _The Professor gave a curt nod, and moved to open the box-_

 **. . . . .  
27** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Tower of Mzark, Elder Fragment Research Facility, Lower Atrium  
. . . . .**

I woke with a gasp. Bedroll beneath me. Stone ceilings. Chugging sounds of Dwemer machinery. Flickering light from the campfire. The events of the previous day came back to me. I relaxed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. ' _Just a dream…or was it?_ '

Once the Dwarven elevator finished its ascent, Master Drevas, Scales and I found ourselves in another section of Dwemer ruins, a long-abandoned campsite just outside the elevator's exit. After wrecking the operating lever ("No sense giving those fetchers a chance to sneak up on us," my mentor explained), starting a campfire and laying out our bedrolls, we all but collapsed into sleep, the events of the day taking their toll. Which led to now…and that odd dream I had.

' _Who was she?_ ' I thought, hands clasped on my midsection, ' _Was she my mentor, like Drevas is now? What was in that box, and why was it so dangerous? More importantly…why would I need it?_ ' I frowned, feeling a headache coming on. ' _Stupid bloody amnesia…_ ' I tore the blanket away and sat up, noticing that my mentor was already awake and preparing breakfast.

"Good morning," Drevas, sans ebony cuirass, greeted me softly. "Breakfast should be done in a few."

I hummed, yawning and stretching, before getting up to use the loo. "Once we're done with that, we need to talk," I said as I walked to the nearby red curtain to do just that, glancing at Scales, who was gnawing on a bloody bone in a corner of the room.

"Ah," my mentor said sagely, "the words all men dread hearing from the women in their lives…" He then had to duck a stinging hex.

As we ate, I contemplated how this conversation should go. There were a number of things about my mentor that I didn't know about; for example, adventuring couldn't be the only thing he did. I knew he was an Alchemist, but beyond that? The questions of why he was even in this miserable place, where would we go once we left, and just _what the hells_ was that spoken magic he used last night were only the most important things I needed to know.

Once we'd finished our food, Drevas placed a bottle of some golden liquid in front of me before preparing his pipe. "What's in this?" I asked, picking up the bottle to examine it.

"Light summer ale," he replied, holding his pipe but not lighting it, "A sort of celebratory drink, for getting through your first ruin. Not much alcohol, but that's not the point of drinking it."

I took a sip, and I saw what he meant: it was good, a bit on the sweet side, but not _too_ sweet. It also made me feel a little less nervous. "Thanks…So, I…had a strange dream last night."

"Define 'strange'," he lit his pipe, taking care not to blow smoke in my direction.

I related the dream to him, sparing no detail; once I was done, he had a thoughtful look on his face, but said nothing, so I went on, "Obviously, whatever was in that box might be an important clue to how I got here."

Drevas blew a smoke ring into the air, "Maybe. We shouldn't jump to conclusions, however, until we have more clues…Pity you didn't see what it was; it might have something to do with the golden dust I found near that purple mushroom." I looked at him questioningly, so he elaborated, "When I retraced your steps, remember? The trail ended there; amidst the broken body parts of that other guy and the tracks of the Falmer, I noticed flecks of gold dust in the dirt. It was focused in one area: the area where _your_ trail began."

I rubbed my forehead in frustration, "Stupid amnesia," then sighed, giving Drevas a tired smile, "Well, I should remember more as time goes on; besides, there's more important things to talk about right now." My mentor gestured for me to go on. "Such as, why are you even down here?"

Drevas blew out a stream of smoke in a great huff, before dropping a mountain on me, "I'm looking for an Elder Scroll in order to prevent a cult of Molag Bal-worshiping vampires from taking over the continent." To say his tone was matter-of-fact was like saying fire was hot. ' _What. No, seriously, WHAT?!_ '

"Could-um, could you elaborate on that a bit, master?" I requested in a weak tone.

"Sure, I _could_ , but, be warned, it's a bit complicated," I nodded quickly, "Alright…So, apparently, some vampiric devotee to Old Molag received a prophecy from a fortune-teller thousands of years ago, supposedly saying that if he found Auriel's Bow vampires would never need fear the sun again. This fetcher, whose name happens to be Harkon, discovered that in order to locate the bow he needed to acquire _three_ Elder Scrolls; once they were read, the path to the bow would become evident. The twit managed to locate two of them, and was trying to find the third, when his wife and daughter did a runner, taking both Scrolls with them, and hiding from the mad bastard for the last few thousand years; he _almost_ reclaimed one of them, when some Vigilants of Stendarr uncovered the tomb his daughter had hidden herself in. Of course," Drevas smirked ruthlessly, "he didn't count on _me_ showing up; I'd recently joined a group of vampire hunters, called the Dawnguard, based in a fort near Riften after some of Harkon's peons attacked a farm near the city of Whiterun, where I'm Thane. His daughter, whose name is Serana, brought us most of this information when she defected." I tilted my head in confusion, so my mentor explained, "She went home to her family's castle, to get an idea of what was going on in and around Tamriel, as well as in house, before bringing the Elder Scroll to the Dawnguard and explaining what her moronic s'wit of a father had planned for everyone."

"But…How do you know an Elder Scroll is _here_? Did her mother hide with the Dwemer?" I really couldn't see that happening, seeing as…Well, the _Falmer_. My mentor agreed.

"Of _course_ not! No, we don't really know _where_ Serana's mother went, though we have some ideas. As for a Scroll being here…well, that's where it gets complicated…" a long pause, where my master looked _very_ hesitant to go on and I fidgeted with worry, before, "The person who told me about an Elder Scroll being _here_ , of all places, was once the leading authority on Scroll lore."

" _Once_?"

"Mm. He went mad. Probably from mucking about with knowledge too complex for mortal minds. Right now, he's hiding out in an iceberg out in the Sea of Ghosts, trying to find a way into a Dwemer Tonal Vault; he thinks the Heart of Lorkhan is inside it," Drevas chuckled as I intelligently cried ' _WHAT?!_ ', "No worries, Hermione: the Nerevarine destroyed the Heart at the same time as Dagoth Ur. No, the poor bastard wanted understanding of the Scrolls so badly that he sold his soul to old Herma Mora, Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate; and Old Mora _never_ makes a deal that isn't to its favor. In this case, Mora gets Septimus Signus as its mortal pawn, Signus is gifted with knowledge that no mortal mind can comprehend and retain their sanity. I think Mora's current use for the poor man is finding a way to open the Tonal Vault, as Signus' condition for giving me the means and directions to find the Scroll was to bring him an inscribed copy of its knowledge."

I'd read of the Daedra; most of them were awful beings that saw mortals as pawns in some great inscrutable game. Others saw us as even _less,_ and Mora was one of those. I didn't like where this was going, and expressed my misgivings, "Doesn't that mean you might be pulled into Mora's machinations?"

Drevas knocked out his pipe and _smirked_ , "Only if I play along and help Signus open the Vault, which I have no intention of doing."

I blinked several times, before asking, "Aren't you curious as to what's in the vault, though?"

"Of course I am; the researcher in me practically _demands_ it. And I'd go along with it, were I not old and wise enough _not to_."

 _Oh._ I smiled in relief, "Thanks, master, for explaining that."

"Anytime, Hermione." He began collecting his armor, "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, actually," I took a swig of ale; it really was good stuff, "Where are we going, after we get the Scroll?" I wasn't even about to _consider_ us _not_ getting ahold of it; my mentor was too good at his job for failure to be an option.

He explained as he strapped on his cuirass, "Whiterun. I'm going to meet up with Serana, who's been scouting out places her mother may have gone, and go from there. You'll meet my Housecarl, Lydia, who'll help you make introductions and adjust while I'm away." Wait, _what?!_

"You're…not taking me with you?" why did that _hurt_?

"I don't know where I'm going, Hermione," my mentor, and the only friend I had in this place, told me calmly, "For all I know, Serana's mother could be hiding in one of the Oblivion Planes…or somewhere _even worse_ , like the _Void_ ; I'm not about to take my apprentice into an unknown situation when she has virtually no experience in such things. Hence, you'll stay in Whiterun and _get_ that experience, so when I return you'll be ready to follow me into the unknown. Okay?" He placed his hand on my shoulder, and looked into my teary eyes with a smile.

I sniffed, nodding, "O-okay. Is, um, Lydia nice?"

"She's a bit of a stick in the mud, but don't let that bother you. She's a good woman, and takes care of my house and affairs while I'm away. Does a good job of it, too; I might just give her a raise when we get back." He picked up the Toolbox, about ready to go, but I had one more question.

"Last question: what the heck was that…thing you did down there? To find out where the Falmer were hiding, I mean," I clarified when he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Oh… _That_ …" Now he looked uncomfortable, which did nothing for my anxiety. "It was the _Thu'um_ , or Dragon Shouts. I think there was a chapter about the Greybeards in one of those books?"

I perked up, eager for a test of my knowledge, "Oh! Yes, there was. They live on the Throat of the World in their monastery, High Hrothgar, and are the masters of the Voice, or _Thu'um._ That makes sense now; and no _wonder_ I felt that quiver of power whenever you used it!" Drevas flinched, but I didn't notice, it was so slight; and I was so excited: a Shout user! Could I get any luckier? "Did you apprentice under them?"

"No." His tone was…strained. I blinked, confused. "…I'm the Dragonborn."

"…" I objected.

"…" elucidated Drevas.

"…" was my intelligent rebuttal.

"… _Bwack?_ " Scales interjected from the corner.

"…" Drevas masterfully riposted.

"…Pull the other one." I finally deadpanned.

"There are some things one can joke about, and _that,_ isn't one of them." My mentor's voice was still strained.

Ah… _wow_. What _have_ I gotten myself into? "Anything else?"

It was Drevas' turn to blink, "I'm sorry?"

"Anything else I should know about you? Are you actually the illegitimate child of the Nerevarine and Tiber Septim, and are hiding out- _STOP LAUGHING!_ " _Honestly!_ This was serious! A potential heir to the friggin _Ruby Throne_ , and he's been mucking about in moldy ruins!

My arse of a mentor took a moment to find his composure, before clarifying a few things, "Sorry, _oh, I haven't laughed that hard in years_ ; ahem, okay…Firstly, I have no idea who my parents are, as I grew up in an orphanage, till I was kicked out onto the street at nine." ' _Oh…shite, I feel like a berk_.' "Secondly, I didn't even know I was Dragonborn until I killed one outside Whiterun last year, on the 10th of Frostfall." ' _DOUBLE WHAT?!_ '

"Bu-bu-but _dragons are extinct!_ "

"They're coming back…Which, according to another prophecy, means the end of the world is nigh. To which I say, _over my cold, broken corpse_."

"Oh, well isn't that _lovely_ ," I said bitterly, "I show up, lose my memories, and it turns out I arrived just in time for the bleedin' Apocalypse."

" _Language._ And like I said," my master's voice was hard, "Not if I have anything to do with it. I've run into half a score dragons in the past four months, and I've killed them all; way I figure it, this world is in good hands. I'd explain more about this Dragonborn stuff, but you've got enough on your plate as is without worrying about _my_ situation." I nodded, as there was wisdom in that. "Thirdly, and the reason why I broke down laughing…Hermione, the Nerevarine was _Argonian_." He started snickering again, and stood to start taking down the campsite…

While I helped, all the while trying to figure out how the notoriously racist Telvanni accepted an Argonian as the Nerevarine. Amongst other things…such as, "Master? Oh, don't sigh; I was just wondering if I could learn the _Thu'um_?"

He finished putting out the fire and regarded me carefully, "Right. First, spend the rest of your time, until we reach the surface, contemplating the forces of life which inhabit all beings, and how that force flows through them. _Then_ I'll think about teaching you a Shout." And he stalked off, grumbling about 'overly inquisitive teenagers' while I followed, bemused, Scales taking his place next to me with that bone held in his beak.

 **. . . . .  
27** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Tower of Mzark, Elder Fragment Research Facility, Fragment Storage/Lexicon Transcription and Study Department  
. . . . .**

It was beautiful. So beautiful, I forgot for a moment we were in a Dwemer ruin.

A dome stretched over our heads, fifty feet high and maybe fifty _yards_ across, over a hill-like mass at the center of the room, the top of the sphere we'd just spent the last ten minutes walking around. The ceiling was covered in worn patterns and mosaics, so ancient I could no longer make them out, all made from brass and white stone, with crystal trimmings in every shade of blue. Around the hill, a stone ring held desks with heavy metal chairs; were they _studying_ the Scroll? Well, this _was_ the Dwemer…Along one wall, a ramp led up to a control station of some sort, while an impossibly complex chandelier hung from the center of the dome. Amidst the clanks and hissing of Dwarven steam machinery, there was an undertone of…something. Like a keening cry on the edge of my hearing, or a plinking of steel strings on the other side of a wooden door.

As beautiful as this place was, it was _unnerving_. "Well…this is creepy."

My mentor was in agreement, "Hmm. Right," he made for the ramp leading up to the control station, "Let's get that scroll and _leave_." I followed; looking about the chamber from the ramp, I noticed there was a fine layer of dust over everything…except a path leading from Blackreach to the archway beneath our destination.

"Err, Master?" That seemed like a problem; if the Falmer could get out onto the surface…

"Noticed that too, eh? I kind of figured the little fetchers had a way to the surface; not long after I became Thane of Whiterun, I was made aware of reports of kidnappings and disappearances in the mountains between Whiterun Hold and The Pale, which has gone on for decades, so most caravans avoid the passes between those holds in favor of the longer route through Hjaalmarch because of that. Most assumed bandits, but ever since the Legion retook Dawnstar the bandits in The Pale have scattered, most hiding in Dwemer ruins or Nordic tombs, and people _still_ went missing around those parts; there was also a crackdown on banditry in Whiterun three months ago, but not many escaped to the north, most going west or south. Now that we've wrecked the lift, that shouldn't be an issue anymore." Oh, right! Looks like covering our backs had a wider effect; it warmed me a bit, knowing some good came out of this whole adventure.

The control apparatus consisted of four covered switches, arrayed two-by-two around some kind of constellation display; Drevas tapped it with a gauntleted finger, but nothing happened. To the right of the apparatus, a triangular pillar came up to my chest; there was an indent in the top, like something was supposed to go there. I ran a hand through my short, spiky hair, "Now what?"

Drevas set the Toolbox to 'safe' and placed it on the ground, "Now, we use the Lexicon to activate this machine," and withdrew, from one of the drawers, a cube made of Dwemer metal, with shiny corners and a disk on each of the cube's faces; each disk had tiny runes inscribed on it, with a larger rune dominating the center. "This thing was used by the Dwemer to transcribe vast quantities of knowledge, in some cases an entire library's worth, for easy transport and access. Put that in the cradle there." I took it from his hand, and gave it a closer look…

A chill ran down my spine, ' _I know these runes…Elder Futhark alternating with Greek and…that big one in the center is a Sumerian/Egyptian_ HYBRID RUNE _!_ _ **This shouldn't be possible!**_ '

"Hermione?" Drevas' voice seemed to come from far away, but it brought me out of my study of the Lexicon.

" _I know these runes, master_ ," I hissed, Drevas stiffening; in shock or horror, I didn't care. My mind was trying to puzzle out how the Dwemer, curse them, _knew the runes from my world_. "And," I continued slowly in a progressively stronger voice, "I know enough about runic languages to know that _this_ setup shouldn't be possible…If they get charged with magic, the cube might collapse from magical overload!" I looked up at him…

His face was completely neutral, body still like a statue, but his eyes were locked on me. Oookay…

"Um, master?" Scales nudged his limp hand. "Scales, he might be broken."

"I am most certainly _not_ broken, Hermione." He sounded normal, which I _guess_ was good. "Also, I'm going to forget _everything_ you just said, partly because I value what remains of my sanity, and partly because I'm pretty sure the Dwemer were a hell of a lot smarter than you or I; they did build this place, after all." He added when I opened my mouth to protest. I wisely shut my gob and went with it; Drevas was a _lot_ more experienced in these matters than I was.

"Well, alright then…" And I placed the Lexicon in the cradle.

The pillar flared with light as soon as the cube came to a rest, a bass tone resonating all around us; I hid behind Master Drevas, fearful of the unknown, while Scales hid behind me. Drevas gave us both an unimpressed look-

 _Click!_ The cover on the first two switches opened.

The three of us stared at them for a moment.

Master Drevas turned back to us, "See? Nothing to worry about." He pressed the first switch before I could reply.

 _Shhhiiiii!_ The top of the hill opened in a swirl, parting like an aperture; from our vantage point, we saw the interior of the sphere move, settling on a grouping of crystalline circles before stopping.

"Hm." My mentor tried the second button, but nothing happened; he tried the first one again. _Burrr_ another bass hum came from the hill, the interior sphere moving to another grouping; still, nothing happened, so he pressed it twice more, with similar results, then-

 _Vweeeee!_ The Lexicon's seams opened, the corners moving off the central hedron as it rose from the corner that rested in the cradle. Master Drevas, Scales and I watched with wide eyes as the artifact took on a bluish tinge, the revealed sides of the central hedron lighting with millions of tiny runes, while the corners began orbiting it, the whole thing turning with a low hum; it hurt my eyes to look at, so I looked up at Drevas. He was rubbing his eyes. "I suppose _that_ was supposed to happen?"

"I guess it's transcribing the Scroll," master said, turning back to the controls for this place. "and if _that_ was a simple process, it wouldn't feel like bugs crawling on our eyes." I nodded, mostly because it felt _exactly_ like that.

Drevas pressed the second button. This time, it did something.

From the ceiling, the chandelier lowered slowly, accompanied by a brief hiss of steam and a longer chorus of tones in varying notes; the most I can say was that, even though it _was_ pleasing to the ear, I felt a rising tide of dread run up through me. ' _Please let it almost be over, I want to get out of here._ ' The Chandelier opened, a larger crystal in a cage studded with its smaller brethren revealed in the center before receding back to the ceiling, while long metallic arms holding crystalline lenses extended to hover over the opened sphere. Once everything stilled, a shaft of light came from the central crystal, striking its brothers in the cage, sending shafts of light to random points on the floor.

 _Click!_ A third switch opened. My mentor, probably also feeling unnerved, pressed it immediately.

 _Shhhiiiiiiaaaaammm_. The arms moved, the cage rotated, the lenses turned in their cradles; yet there were no seams or hinges, only _sound_. " _How is this possible?_ " I whispered in mingled shock and awe.

"The Dwemer were masters of harmonic resonance," Drevas whispered back, "With it, they could make all sorts of wonders; there's a theory, for instance, that all they built, even their cities, only required the right music." He pressed the switch again, and the chandelier shifted in its beautifully haunting dance again.

I let out a sigh as it came to a halt, "I'm glad I've never read about anything like _that_ , then."

"Why?"

"Well, given that I know the runes-"

My mentor pointed at me, fixing me with a glare, " **NO.** Stop thinking about that _right now_. That way leads to madness." I raised my hands in surrender and did as he asked, _after_ filing that information away for later examination… _Much_ _later_ , as in _after I get home_ later.

A third press of the switch brought the lenses and cage into the correct alignment, seeing as the Lexicon closed, while the shafts of light touched the crystalline circles in the dome, a high-pitched tinkling chime came from the dome, and the fourth and last switch became available. Master Drevas quickly pressed it.

The arms of the chandelier moved out of the way, the crystal cage lowering as a ramp extended from the edge of the stone ring, curving to a halt in the center. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as the large crystal was lowered from the cage with a loud keening; it turned lengthwise…and _opened_.

A golden light shone from within, but Master Drevas paid it no mind at first. "Right," he said, turning back to the Lexicon and collecting it from its cradle. It went right back into the Toolbox, "Now for the Scroll."

We descended to the stone ring, walked up the ramp, and looked into the opened crystal.

A scroll, as tall as I was and made of what looked like gold, rested within. In its center, a purple gem carved into the shape of a dragon's head.

Master Drevas then gripped the dial on his belt, _pulling_ it out with a ' _clink!_ '; the colors changed: instead of the six primary and secondary colors, plus white and black, there were now only four; pink, cobalt, indigo and gold. He turned the pointer from cobalt to indigo while unslinging the Toolbox, face serious as I watched with wide eyes. He opened the Toolbox…

 _There was another Elder Scroll in there_. ' _That must be Serana's._ ' I thought, trying not to freak out over how surreal this all was, as my mentor snatched up the Scroll in the crystal and placed it in the case, shutting the lid and pressing the dial on his belt so it went back to its normal setting.

A loud sigh sounded then; we looked at each other, both coming to the same realization: we'd both been holding our breath. Master and apprentice laughed nervously as Drevas stood and followed me off the ramp. "Alright then; now that we've shaved a few days off our lives with stress-"

"Don't be sarcastic, Master. It's unbecoming." Scales huffed, agreeing with me… _maybe_.

"-Let's get out of this place. I hope you like the cold, because my sense of direction tells me we'll probably come out on top of a mountain." Oh, _joy_ ; and from the sounds of my mentor's grumbling and Scales' whine, I wasn't alone in my dread. ' _Wait a tick…am I a witch or not?!_ '

"Well, Master," I drawled, drawing a raised eyebrow from him, "if you don't like the cold _that_ much, I _suppose_ I could put some runic enchantments on your armor to keep you warm and dry." I looked at him askance, but he had that same "don't think about it" expression from when I last mentioned runes, so I tried to assuage his concerns: "It's nothing like what we just saw, you know; just a binary rune cluster, one half keeping the interior of your armor warm while the other half keeps the surface clean and dry," I chirped, trying to raise his spirits; it seemed like it worked, because he became thoughtful.

After a moment, he asked, "You won't accidentally disintegrate my armor, will you?"

"What?! No!" Honestly! I'm not an idiot! Wait, why's he smiling at me?

"In that case, do _your_ armor first." At my indignant ' _Why?_ ' he told me, "Because _my_ armor is masterwork ebony, and therefore _prohibitively expensive_ to replace, while _yours_ can be replaced in a matter of minutes. I made a spare breastplate," he elaborated when I tilted my head questioningly. ' _Huh. Well, I guess I can't argue with that…Now, what do I need?_ ' I tapped my chin, chewing on my bottom lip in thought, for a minute or so, going over arithmantic calculations and runic formations in my head.

After coming up with a _probable_ solution, I asked my mentor for quill and parchment, which _of course_ he had plenty of; on one of the desks of the stone ring, I worked out how to draw the runes in such a way that it wouldn't make my armor red hot or crumble to dust, while my mentor watched from the chair in silence.

It took me the better part of thirty minutes, but, after three sheets of crumpled parchment, I had it! "There. Finished," I said at last, placing my wand on the desk before undoing the straps for my breastplate. Master Drevas picked up the parchment with my calculations and the finished runic array while I set my armor on the desk next to my wand.

"So, all these squiggles are going to equal warm and dry armor?" He asked suspiciously, handing the sheet back to me.

"Yes." I replied in an even tone. "Now, don't distract me." Taking my wand, I steadied my breathing and heart rate, double-checked the array for errors, activated the Carving Charm, a focused point of sharpened magic, and began carving on the inside of the front breastplate.

Carving runic arrays is _very_ different from drawing or painting them, for two reasons: first, the margin for error is nonexistent, meaning you _cannot_ make even the _slightest_ mistake in creating the runes; seeing as human minds are prone to error, mostly because our brains have an annoying habit of saying something seems imperfect when it _is_ , early enchanters discovered a way to carve every rune perfectly: by entering a trance-like state, where the enchanter's entire attention becomes single-mindedly focused on the runes they are carving, blocking out any outside stimuli. Learning how to enter this trance was part of beginner-level Runes, as it was found one could memorize runic definitions better when their focus was only on that and nothing else.

Whoever taught me runes must have thought I was a prodigy, seeing as I could memorize virtually _anything_ I read about and have perfect recall; but I'm no prodigy, my mind is simply _really_ organized…except for the parts that my amnesia locked, of course.

I absently brushed the hair away from my right eye, examining my work. Perfect. I moved on to the back-plate.

The second reason carving is different from other runic mediums turns out to be simple: _permanence_. If the runes are made to last, they have a quirk of becoming more potent, and can therefore hold magic more efficiently; it's for this reason almost all ward stones have runes carved into them, rather than painted or drawn with chalk.

Arithmancy and Charms theory also allow for a rune-carver to create all kinds of secondary effects, or even change the activation principles of the cluster. These runes I am currently carving, unlike other runic artifice, won't be activated upon completion by my wand and magic; rather, they will be activated or deactivated by their proximity to a bio-magical source…which means they'll turn on when someone puts on the armor.

My eyes flicked over the second array, which would help expand the internal warming and surface drying effects throughout all attached fabrics, but ignore the skin on the latter effect; it wouldn't do if I put on this armor and have the top two layers of skin all over my body instantly obliterated. Also perfect. I closed my eyes, straightening my back and coming back to myself with a shuddering breath.

Drevas was smoking again, looking up at the chandelier in contemplation, having moved to the next desk on the ring, his feet on the table and Scales curled up on the floor, dozing.

I cleared my throat. He looked at me while Scales perked up. "Finished, master."

He stretched, snuffing out the embers in his pipe, "Hmm…And it only took you _one whole hour_." Ah, right; the downside to the runic trance was a loss of temporal perception.

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, quickly putting my armor back on. The enchantments flared immediately, like a tiny tickle between my breasts and shoulder blades that lasted a split second; my whole body was then enveloped in comfortable warmth. I'd set the temperature to stay at a constant 68oF; not too hot, not too cold. I smiled up at my master, "Well, it was worth it! The clusters work." He smiled his approval, but I wasn't done! "Now, strip off that ebony so I can do yours…Master, where's your…" Where was his armor?

He lifted up his ebony cuirass from the floor, just outside my vision, and set it on the table; all without taking his pipe from his smirking lips.

"Right," I said, trying to cover up my embarrassment, "then, err, just relax. I'll try to go a bit faster."

Master Drevas just hummed, walking back over to his desk, as I fell back into the trance.

 **. . . . .  
27** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Skyrim, Pale/Whiterun Border  
. . . . .**

My first impression of Skyrim, once we'd ridden another elevator to the exit, was of _snow_.

Stepping carefully outside, so as not to slip in the shin-deep drifts, I couldn't see more than a dozen feet in front of me, due to the snow falling in thick flakes and covering everything. The air was a bit thin, proving Master Drevas' prediction of us exiting atop a mountain correct; still, I could see shadowy spires through the curtains of white, my mind connecting the dots and telling me we were close to an evergreen forest.

" ** _Laas Yah!_** " Drevas' whispered Shout shook me from my observations, "Seems clear; granted that Shout only shows life signs within a few hundred feet." Oh, that reminded me.

"I'd like to give it a try, Master," I requested hopefully. "I did as you asked, after I was done with our armor."

He hesitated a moment, then sighed, "Righto; let that feeling, of life flowing through all living things, fill your being. Imagine it taking a swirling form, much like the snow about us, and then shunt it up to your throat while whispering _Laas_ , which means _Life_."

I did so, feeling that sensation that came with my master using the _Thu'um_ running through my body with every breath; letting it roll up to my throat like a gentle wave, I whispered, " ** _Laas!_** "

A purple cloud, tasting a bit like cinnamon, left my lips and went up to my eyes, sinking into them and making them a little itchy. I blinked the itch away, and found a smiling Drevas was now _glowing_ with a pink light; gasping in surprise, I looked to Scales next, finding a similar glow about the clannfear. Grinning, I turned back to my master.

I almost missed the other pink cloud appearing in the snow, coming at us. " _Incoming!_ " I hissed, drawing my loaded crossbow and aiming it at the cloud, Drevas pulling his mace as Scales crouched low and growled menacingly; the pink cloud dissipated as the figure came close enough to see, and I would have nightmares for months about what came barreling at us through the snow.

Covered in matted, dirty white fur, towering over both of us at seven feet, arms as long as my body with brutal claws at the ends helping it move forward on all fours, three black eyes set over a snarling maw full of teeth; it was a beast I'd read about and hoped never to see, a monster that could tear a bear apart in seconds: a _full-grown Frost Troll!_

Panicking, I fired at its chest; my only hope was that my crossbow had a draw strong enough that it could punch through armor at fifty yards. The bolt shot into its breastbone with a _thuck!_ I may as well have thrown a rock at it. The troll roared furiously and turned its charge to me.

Time slowed to a crawl, adrenaline and fear heightening my senses. I dropped the crossbow, going for my wand as Scales leapt at the beast with a screech. It swatted him out of the air with a backhanded blow that _cracked_ through the air, its sights fixed on my terrified form. ' _No no no please-'_

" ** _FUS ROH DAH!_** ' The Shout shattered the air like a thunderclap, a wall of visible force slamming into the troll with the force of a charging mammoth and sending it flying back into the white flurries, a visible circle briefly appearing in the falling snow to mark its progress.

Time came back. I was breathing fast, panicked. As I was about to search for Scales, Drevas appeared in my field of vision; my sight was immediately drawn to his face.

He was clearly _furious_ , but managed to keep his tone even, "Stay here." He turned, running in the direction the troll went.

A familiar black head popped out of a snowdrift to my left with a low _squawk_. "SCALES!" I ran over to the clannfear, Banishing the snow around him and looking for injuries; to my surprise, he just hopped onto his feet and gave himself a shake, seemingly no worse for wear.

" _There you are you_ _ **fetcher!**_ " My master's harsh voice was distant, but boy, did he sound _mad_.

" ** _Laas!_** " I whispered, looking in the direction he'd gone. I almost wish I hadn't.

My mentor's pink form was standing over a cowering mass of pink; that Shout must've broken one of the troll's arms, or perhaps the fall had done that. I say this because it was raising one of its arms, as if trying to ward off the mist that was Drevas, to no avail.

His pink form whipped at the troll's form, knocking its arm away with a _crack_ that could be heard from where I was crouched. The creature's howl of pain rang through the white wilderness, cut off suddenly by the sounds that followed.

 _CHUD! CHUD! CRUNCH!_ The troll's life sign vanished after the third overhand blow my master's form delivered to it. I gulped, assuaging my frayed nerves, ' _It's dead. Good. Good._ ' Then Drevas' life sign vanished too.

I gasped, suddenly feeling alone; I looked to Scales, seeing nothing at first, until I got nudged in my right side by my crossbow. Looking at the clannfear, who held my crossbow in his beak, I found that his scales had changed to white. "How'd you do that?" I asked weakly as I reclaimed my weapon. Scales just chirped quietly, looking in the direction Drevas had gone…

Who then came walking calmly through the flurries, swiping his mace through the snow to clean the blood off of it. I stood shakily, staring at him with wide eyes as he approached; watching him bowl Falmer was one thing, but he'd just _destroyed_ that troll! I was at once in awe of him, and terrified of the power he held; this was one Dunmer no sane person should ever cross.

Holstering his mace with a sigh, he gave us both a once over. "Are you both alright?" he asked with quiet concern; I nodded mutely as Scales _chuffed_ next to me, clearly no worse for wear. "Good. Let's get a move on, before more show up." I took one shaky step, then a more confident one, and then I was walking briskly after Drevas down the mountainside path.

Some minutes passed in silence, broken only by the occasional " _Laas!_ " from one of us, before anyone found the nerve to speak.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was I who broke the silence, "I'd ask Scales, if he could talk," I began slowly, the clannfear in question giving an indignant _chirp_ , "Sorry, mate; but how can he change the color of his scales?" I asked Drevas.

" ** _Laas!_** Clannfear alphas aren't covered in ordinary bestiaries, mainly due to their rarity; I believe there have only been three documented sightings since the retaking of The Battlespire, and all of those were during the Oblivion Crisis," my mentor explained dryly, "When I found Scales, he was still a runt, badly wounded and caught in an steel net, the corpses of four Argonian hunters around him; once…once I'd nursed him back to health, I found he was able to change colors to suit his environment. Not much is understood about alphas, so I don't know if his ability is unique, or if all alphas have it." Scales gave another _chuff_ , and moved ahead of us a bit. I noticed the odd pause in the story, but didn't comment; it was probably just another bad memory.

" ** _Laas!_** " I was getting pretty good at that; the itching took some getting used to, though. "He shook off that blow like it was nothing, too. These alphas must be pretty durable, huh?" Said alpha raised its head in pride ahead of us.

Drevas nodded, "His skin is harder than a daedroth's, and his bones are like ebony. Those three sightings I mentioned all had one thing in common: the piles of corpses the alphas left in their wake." I shuddered, because I could see it; half of those eight Falmer fell to Scales' claws and beak.

Still, "I'll take Scales by my side over any daedroth, master." The clannfear in question turned to look back at us, blue eyes wide with surprise.

My master chuckled, "I agree completely. **_Laas!_** "

We continued toward the forest at the base of the mountain, and if either of us noticed Scales trotting proudly, we said nothing.

 **. . . . .**

Another hour of walking brought us to the forest I'd spotted from the mountain; a maze of old-growth evergreens, its southern edge marking the official (and traditional) border between Whiterun and The Pale. According to Drevas, it was also _very_ easy to get lost in: unless you kept to the highway running through the forest or had a compass handy, you could fall prey to the native wildlife, like bears, ice wraiths, wolves, wandering draugr, and of course, _trolls_.

Or worse: bandits.

Drevas explained that, after he'd been elevated to Thane of Whiterun, he and the Jarl's Housecarl, a female Dunmer named Irileth, had made it their personal mission to clean up Whiterun Hold of bandits while there was a lull in the civil war; apparently, after The Pale was retaken by the Legion, Ulfric Stormcloak decided to play a defensive war, sticking to small raids in Imperial-held territory to aid morale. Not that Drevas or Irileth cared for such things, seeing as Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was staunchly neutral in his political dealings, which ended up working in their favor as they were given free reign to deploy the Jarl's forces in a (apparently _very_ violent and bloody) hold-wide crackdown on banditry. The upside was that the roads in Whiterun were some of the safest in Skyrim, improving trade for the Hold, not to mention an uptick in recruitment at the city barracks.

The downside: any bandits that survived fled into the wilderness of the neighboring holds; the only exception, according to my master, was Hjaalmarch, as Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was of like mind and behavior with Jarl Balgruuf, and had mobilized her own soldiers as well as the local Legion presence to stamp out any bandit contingents fool enough to cross her border. Some of the (arguably) smarter bandits had fled into the mazes of The Reach, any Nords among them joining the Forsworn barbarians, while others hid in abandoned redoubts or caves; the Jarl of Markarth, Igmund, saw pursuit of both Forsworn and bandit as a waste of his Hold's resources, as The Reach was difficult to navigate even at the best of times, and was currently awaiting assistance of the Legionary variety to begin his own crackdown. Likewise, Falkreath's Jarl Siddgeir didn't see much point in sending his limited forces on a merry chase through Skyrim's densest forest. Few bandits had escaped to the north, as my master had explained earlier; given the choice between a swift death at the hands of Whiterun's Thane and braving the wilds of the Southern Pale, most chose to defend their stomping grounds to the last man, and died where they stood.

" ** _Laas!_** " I whispered for the umpteenth time as we strode through the forest; this time, I spotted a grouping of clouds that didn't look like rabbit or deer that were all we'd run across for the past hour. "Master," I hissed, "I think there's some people ahead."

He tensed as Scales crouched low in the snow, all of us stopping near a frozen pond. " ** _Laas Yah!_** " Drevas spotted them immediately, his face going grim; "Bandits," he spat, "probably remnants from Silent Moons."

The pink clouds had faded, so I tried again, " ** _Laas!_** " wondering why my master thought they were bandits.

One cloud was seated on the left, maybe eating something if its movements were any indication; the second cloud stood across from it, shifting in a way that seemed like he was carrying on a conversation. The last two…

One was on the ground, trying in vain to jerk away from the other, larger, cloud as it thrusted away at it. I felt sickened as the pink glow faded away, a broken feminine cry drifting to my ears.

I was brought back to my immediate surroundings by my mentor drawing his bow, "One for each of us, then." Nodding grimly, I checked my crossbow. ' _I really need to figure out how to get this thing to reload automatically,_ ' I thought, doing so manually while looking around; the flurries were still drifting down, combining with the trees to provide decent cover. Downside: I couldn't see where the bandits were camped.

Luckily for us, this was old hat for Master Drevas. "Scales, you circle around and hit the one in the middle. Hermione, circle to the left and get that _s'wit_ rapist; once you're done, see to the prisoner." I gave a jerky nod, actually feeling _eager_ to end the piece of troll shite. "I'll stick the one in the chair, ask him a few questions, see if this group has any…neighbors, and then off him." A beat of silence, only broken by the twitter of a bird somewhere nearby. " _Go_."

" ** _Laas!_** " I kept the clouds on my right side, moving through the snow and trees, Drevas' words from the house in Blackreach echoing in my mind: ' _They won't hesitate to kill you for your_ shoes _, if not capture and_ rape you.' The harsh reality of those words was rather sobering, and helped me focus. I pulled up about even with the apparent encampment, going by the pink clouds; the large one was clearly defined; it had left its victim cowering on the ground (' _probably has a tent…_ ') and was now standing by its fellows. I crept forward as the pink light faded until I heard snippets of conversation.

"…gettin' loose, th' slut." A gruff voice, presumably my target.

"Well maybe you should stop fuckin' her three times a day," high, nasally voice, lower to the ground, must be the seated one.

"Agreed," twangy voice, might be local, "A' this rate, we won't even be able to sell 'er to a brothel, let alone trade her to the boys up by Silverdrift." Yup, local.

" ** _Laas!_** " I whispered as quietly as I could as Troll Shite displayed some genius-worthy leaps of scholarly logic.

" _Bah!_ Wha' do we need tho'se weaklings fo'? We'll jus' wai' by th' road, like las' time, 'n take th' next carriage wha' passes; get sum fresh pussy _and_ extra coin." The other two lumps made varying hums of agreement with this inspired master plan as I lined up my shot with the speaker's throat; Orismer, as tall as Drevas, all done up in leather armor with his back to me and an ebony axe at his hip. Seated lump was a shorter elf, Bosmer, with a mug in his hand. Lump number two was a decidedly stupid looking man in fur armor; given his facial features, he was obviously a Nord.

A broken sob came from a large tent, off to the right. Troll Shite growled, "Shaddup, ya fuckin' wh-"

 _Chack!_

Troll Shite fell to the ground, choking and kicking with a bolt in his throat.

The lumpen Nord had about a half second to be shocked before Scales ploughed into him from behind, a wet crunch and gurgle signifying his end.

The Bosmer never had a chance as a green-fletched arrow skewered his crotch, nailing him to the chair as he let out a high-pitched scream.

I reloaded, walking calmly toward Troll Shite as he convulsed on the ground in a desperate attempt to breathe. Another arrow hissed from the right, piercing the Wood Elf's dominant hand and pinning it to the chair leg, accompanied by another agonized scream from said elf.

Drawing even with the Orc, I looked down at him as he looked up at me, eyes bulging and bloody froth on his lips; one of his hands flew from his neck to the axe on his belt.

 _Chack!_ My next bolt sent him to Oblivion.

Drevas walked over casually as though he was only out for a stroll, sparing the barest glance to my kill, before focusing on the sobbing elf, "Good afternoon, _fetcher_ ," master's voice was disturbingly cheery as he drew his mace, "I've got a few questions for you. Ah, and please, don't get up on my account." He chuckled darkly as the trapped Bosmer began blubbering in fear.

I tuned them out as I approached a bound Nord woman, a few years older than me maybe, bruises yellowing on her face and bare breasts, hands and feet bound in dirty rope, and staring at me in wide-eyed terror. Removing my hood, I set aside my crossbow at the tent entrance and tried to set her at ease, "Hey. It's okay, you're safe now."

She blinked, clearly disbelieving of what she was seeing, poor thing, "W-w-who?"

Smiling in what I hoped was a disarming way, I answered slowly, "I'm Thane Drevas' apprentice, Hermione, out of Whiterun." I crouched in front of her, drawing my boot knife and making the woman flinch. "Let's gets those binds off you. Where are you from?" I asked as I did her ankles first.

"D-Dawnstar," she whimpered, "I-I was g-g-going to Falkreath…to visit m-my aunt, when…" she trailed off as I freed her hands, setting my knife down on the dirty bedroll she occupied.

"Well," smiled I, "You're free now, but it's dangerous out here;" As if to confirm my words, the last bandit cried out in pain, cut off suddenly by a metallic _thwack_. "We're going to Whiterun, so you can follow us; you can rest up there, before taking the carriage to Falkreath." She stared at me blankly as I looked over her injuries, "You could do with some healing first, though," I turned to find master standing over the Bosmer's corpse, "Master?" He looked up at me with polite interest, "Do you have a healing potion, or maybe-" His expression shifted to horror.

" _DON'T-"_

I turned back to the woman-

 _As a gout of warm blood splattered across my face from her gaping neck_.

 **. . . . .**

 **She killed herself.**

 **. . . . .**

 _Drevas' hands glowing, briefly, about her gushing neck, his face going from determined to sorrowful in an instant, the wet rattle of her death sounding like the cruelest chuckle._

 **. . . . .**

 **She** ** _killed herself…_**

 **. . . . .**

 _A pool, so red it was black, spread from the woman's neck._

 _My hands going through the motions of cleaning myself off, a quick cleaning charm removing the blood from my face and armor._

 ** _. . . . ._**

 **She killed herself…with my knife…**

 **. . . . .**

 _My master laying her out as respectfully as possible; as he placed coins on her eyes; as he prayed to the gods for her; as we burned the tent, a makeshift pyre to the nameless woman._

 _As I collected the ebony axe from the Orc's corpse, Drevas giving some encouragement: "You'll find a more noble use for it, I'm sure."_

 **. . . . .**

 **Why…don't I feel anything?**

 **. . . . .**

 _As I followed along behind him, Scales trotting at my right side once more, the forest's exit somewhere in the distance._

 **. . . . .**

 **"** ** _…no such things as civility or mercy…_** **"**

 **"** ** _…rape you until you break…_** **"**

 **"…** ** _worse things than death…_** **"**

 **"** ** _…out of your worst nightmares…_** **"**

 **. . . . .**

 _His words as we approached the forest's edge: it's not your fault._

 _Things will be better once we're in Whiterun._

 _A roof over your head, a warm bed, good people; you'll be safe there._

 _You'll be able to train in whatever catches your eye; plus, my main library is there._

 _As I frowned and nodded and asked questions and smiled at his promises._

 **. . . . .**

 **As I finally understood what had disturbed me so greatly in the dark of Blackreach.**

 **All the stories of great and mythical deeds had one thing in common:**

 **They were all full of death.**

 **Getting back home to Harry would be a mythical undertaking. Therefore…**

 ** _The path home was paved with corpses_** **.**

 **And the worst part was…** ** _I now knew I had the strength to walk it_** **.**

 **. . . . .**

. . . . .

Yep, the story starts getting _very_ interesting after this.

Mostly because I don't have to write Drevas into every other sentence anymore! (Celebration occurs)

This chapter fought like a hacked-off Hunger to get written; first it was a sinus infection, then the muse took a break, then a friggin fire alarm at the library while I was putting the finishing touches on before work.

Anyway, it's 2AM EST here, and I'm going to bed.

Thanks for the favorites and reviews! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 **Next time: Our heroine meets a vampire, gets yelled at by a priest, and makes another friend.**


	6. Chapter 5: Wary In Whiterun

**You know where the Disclaimer is. On with the show!**

 **. . . . .**

 **_\|/_**

 **Chapter 5:**

 **Wary In Whiterun**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . . .  
Early Morning, 28** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Skyrim, Whiterun City  
. . . . .**

The previous evening, I'd spotted the keep of Whiterun from across the rolling plains, a spire of white-gold amidst the greens and browns marking my destination; behind it, the Throat of the World seemed to spear the very sky, a bank of clouds skirting its middle while its peak shone yellow in the setting sun.

We camped in a copse of stunted trees for the night, aurora dancing amidst a blanket of stars in the clear night, the moons Masser and Secunda steadily making their rounds across the sky. Still, we only got a few hours' sleep; a roaring dragon in the west had my master rushing us in the direction of the city. "Falmer and bandits are one thing; and I'm not about to hare off to fight _dragons_ with you in tow," he'd said as we walked briskly through the night.

I wasn't about to disagree; I just wanted a bath and a decent night's sleep. As decent as I could get, anyway; I woke twice in those early hours, plagued by nightmares of pale flesh, white fur, and gurgling rattles.

So it was that we arrived at the gates as the rising sun turned the sky pink; I was weary to my very bones, praying to whatever god who'd listen that there was a hot bath somewhere in this place.

It was a lovely city, though; its walls all strong grey stone, worn from time and centuries of strife. Even so, the battlements were still in place, the curtain walls rising over twenty feet on the outer wall with signs of recent repair, sometime in the past century, the inner walls rising even higher, the huge keep of Dragonsreach dominating the skyline. Wooden outbuildings dotted the winding barbican from the entryway to the city gatehouse, manned by a score of yellow clad guardsmen; there were also what looked like huge wooden crossbows mounted every thirty feet or so, five that I could see in the barbican and more on the curtain wall. Drevas explained that they'd been constructed by the local blacksmiths and carpenters to drive off dragons; given that each bolt was twice my height, the lack of dragons was perfectly understandable.

As we approached the entryway, I took a look around; farms and windmills dominated the southern plains about the city. I noticed people leaving houses and stretching, while others were already tending the fields. A mountain range, skirted with another evergreen forest, acted as a backdrop for the peaceful scene; in a way, it was even more surreal than the Elder Scroll chamber had been.

"Thanks, Scales," I turned to Drevas, who was addressing an attentive clannfear, "Go on, now; I'm sure the wolf population has missed you terribly," he smiled at his own joke while Scales huffed and nudged his hand before trotting over to me.

I scratched him behind his fringe, saying a quiet "Thanks," before he barked, changed the color of his hide to green, and moved briskly away toward the mountain forests.

"He'll be fine," said Drevas, walking up beside me, "Irileth doesn't want him inside the city, afraid he might injure someone important I suppose, but he can take care of himself." He clapped me on the back before turning to the city, "I won't be taking him with me, either, but if you leave the city and want some extra protection, just whistle and he'll come."

I followed, responding with a nod and whispered "Okay."

The guards in the barbican were nice, calling out greetings to their returning Thane and wishing us good morning as we traversed the curving path; for some reason, though, even though I knew I was safe, I couldn't completely relax. I kept my hand on my wand case, looking at the guards, watching where their hands were, examining their weapons, searching for threats; my master noticed, as we crossed a drawbridge, and told me to relax; "No one is going to attack either of us here," he said in his quiet rasp, "So ease up; people will think you're an assassin or something, acting like that."

I hung my head, feeling ashamed and angry with myself, "Sorry, master." With what felt like a tremendous effort, I let my wand hand hang by my side, focusing on my breathing and feeling a little tenseness leave my shoulders. I kept my head down, though, as we entered the city, only looking up when Drevas pointed out the smithy and barracks near the gatehouse, and the market at the end of the road we were walking on. A few more people bid Drevas a good morning as we approached a decent-sized house; I could feel their eyes on me, even though I kept my gaze on the ground, hood hiding most of my face, but none of them spoke to or of me. ' _No one here knows me,_ ' I thought miserably, ' _and Drevas will be leaving soon, so who will I talk to about my nightmares?_ '

Walking up the steps behind Drevas, I felt all the more alone for it.

 **. . . . .  
Whiterun City, Breezehome  
. . . . .**

' _Where is he?_ ' Lydia thought as she went about her morning routine, ignoring the vampire reading by the fire.

When her Thane had turned up two months ago with this vampire in tow, she'd thought the old elf had finally gone round the twist; Daedra and convoluted plots and ( _shudder_ ) Elder Scrolls. Give her a nice, normal bandit raid any day. Even a pleasant sojourn through a draugr-infested Nordic barrow would be preferable to whatever insanity her Thane had gotten himself into. As if dragons weren't bad enough, _hmph_.

So Lydia decided to stay out of it; her Thane may be old, but he was also a battle-hardened veteran. He'd be _fine_ ; the crackdown had proved to her that he could handle himself in almost any situation, plus, he'd brought Scales with him; and besides, someone needed to keep an eye on the house, answer letters (or burn them), and liaise with the people of Whiterun. So she'd have a quiet few weeks to herself.

That she had the place to herself in case she needed some 'bed-warming' after a night at the tavern was just a bonus, not that she would _ever_ admit it.

But _then_ , the vampire had shown up one night, on the eve of the 23rd of First Seed; and hadn't _that_ been a fright, waking up for a trip to the loo to find the bloodsucker relaxing by the fire with _Words and Philosophy_ in one hand and a goblet of _something_ in the other, smiling innocently at her and greeting her warmly _as if it was_ _ **her**_ _house_. Once Lydia calmed her frightened heart, the vampire (who was apparently called Serana) had explained that her Thane had bid her wait in Morthal as he followed up on a lead with the College of Winterhold; Lydia could see the reasoning, those mages were unlikely to take the presence of a vampire well.

"Well, why are you _here_?" Lydia had asked snappishly. This _Serana_ had merely tilted her head and smiled (close-lipped, thank the _Nine_ ).

"He told me that, if he wasn't there by the 22nd, to come here and wait for him. I'm very sorry for not informing you in advance; you see, I thought he'd sent word of his plans," the creature replied with perfect politeness, which just pissed Lydia off, "If you're put off by my presence…well, just ignore me. I won't be a bother, and I'm sure Drevas will be here shortly."

Once the Housecarl had staved off the coming annoying-Thane-incurred-migraine, she asked the vampire if her Thane had given any other instructions.

To which Serana looked up from her book with a, "Hmm?" and an "Oh, well, he said that if he's not back by the 30th, we're to go to the Dwemer ruin of Alftand and try to find him. Or what's left of him, as he's probably dead," and went back to her book like nothing was wrong _at all_ , while Lydia finally gave into her migraine.

She'd also gotten _very_ drunk, mostly because if her Thane died she'd have to go back to scrubbing the floors of Dragonsreach, which she _really_ didn't want to do; the Jarl's children were simply _awful_.

What had followed amounted to five days of an exercise in patience, for Lydia at least; the vampire had mostly kept to herself and was proven to be very proper, excepting her _questionable_ taste in literature. Like the one time, when she'd come home from the tavern with her 'favorite ride', and the bloody creature was _sitting on the floor eating crackers and cheese_ , no doubt getting _crumbs all over the carpet_ , wearing a _very revealing_ tunic, and reading, _of_ _ **all things**_ , _The Doors of Oblivion_! She could have _strangled_ the fiendish creature; it didn't help that her 'ride' had made himself scarce, and had been avoiding her ever since!

So it was a cold five days for Lydia.

And that would have been fine, if not for the fact that she still had duties to attend to. Her biggest problem was that most of those duties were things her _Thane_ was better suited for, and it showed in some of her dealings with Dragonsreach; _twice_ , Irileth had called at the house checking if her Thane had returned, citing some matter that he was supposed to attend to personally, and the second time _Serana_ had answered the door, no shoes on, reading _A Game At Dinner_ , which resulted in Lydia getting a brief interrogation and talking to from her superior (seeing as Irileth was only outranked in Whiterun's hierarchy by her Thane and the Jarl himself), and hadn't _that_ been embarrassing. Standing in the backyard with Irileth, having just explained the entire situation, the female Dunmer looking like she was trying to decide whether to laugh, scream, sigh, or a combination of the three; Lydia had to admit, afterward from the bottom of a bottle of Honningbrew, her fellow Housecarl's face _was_ pretty funny to watch when flustered.

Now, here she was, getting some toast and eggs into her system, and trying to ignore the fact that not only was it the _28_ _th_ , but the vampire had _somehow_ found a copy of _The Complete Collected Works of Crassius Curio_ and was now reading it by the fire _in full view of the door_ with a small smile on her face. _Disgusting_. So, yeah, it looked like it would be one of _those_ days.

Then the door opened and her Thane strode inside without preamble, a short hooded figure trailing behind him.

"My Thane!" Lydia cried in relief, and didn't _she_ sound like some heart-sick housewife, " _Where have you_ **been**?"

"Hello, Lydia," Thane Drevas greeted tiredly, and Lydia noticed that he _looked_ tired, like he hadn't slept in days, "Serana."

"Drevas," the vampire greeted, tilting her tome of smut and nodding in greeting, "Who's your shadow?"

Lydia whirled to the hooded figure, which was now no longer hooded and looking about with tired interest, eyes lidded and with a coldness about them that wasn't right for such a young girl. Nevertheless, Lydia did her job and sized the young lass up: ' _Breton features, large front teeth, good Gods did she cut her hair with a_ knife _, fatigued eyes, ebony axe at her belt, is that Thane's crossbow?_ ' Before the Housecarl could get any further, the girl spoke in a quiet voice and odd accent.

"I'm Hermione."

…Nothing else. ' _She's either exhausted or traumatized,_ ' thought Lydia with a suppressed shudder, ' _and considering that it's_ Drevas _she's been travelling with, it may as well be both_.'

Luckily, her Thane was quick to elaborate, "What she means to say is, 'Hi, I'm Hermione Granger, Thane Drevas' apprentice, now could someone _please_ direct me to the bath before I collapse on something fragile.' And the latter for me as well, once she's done."

The girl nodded, like a puppet on strings.

As Lydia tried to decide whether to scream or cry, Serana spoke up, "I'll take her," and stood, guiding the unresisting young woman to the back of the house while one stressed-out Housecarl gaped at their backs and one exhausted Thane began removing armor and equipment.

Once Lydia got over the fact that her Thane had just let a _vampire_ go into a private room with a teenage girl, and said girl went _willingly_ , she whirled on her Dunmer lord, "My _Thane_ ," she said through clenched teeth as said Thane removed his gauntlets and placed them on the proper table next to the door, " _Where did that girl come from?_ " Never mind _everything else_ that was wrong with this picture!

Her Thane pointed at her favorite chair as he worked on one of his cuirass' straps, "Siddown and I'll tell you. Better yet, grab a couple bottles of mead first," ' _Oh hells, what_ has _he done_ _now?_ '

"It's _seven bells in the morning_ , my Thane."

"Ale, then." He placed his ebony armor on the table, and was about to sit down to take off his boots when he noticed the book Serana had been reading. "Lydia. What have I told you about the box under my bed?"

Yep. Lydia was going to _kill_ that vampire.

 **. . . . .**

Serana had noticed it as soon as the girl had taken off her hood. ' _She's seen something horrible, and Drevas…he means well, but he's honestly hopeless where children are involved._ '

It was also _really_ disturbing to hear the girl speak in that dead tone; Serana got her out of the room before Lydia's prudishness triggered the poor thing.

Once they were in the bath, Serana decided to try and get her to open up a bit through conversation; not that she was very experienced in such things herself, having little contact with actual society in her formative years, but she'd had her own share of horrible experiences, so felt confident she could at least help the lass recover from…well, whatever was bothering her.

Said young woman glanced quickly about the room, presumably to check for exits and useful items (' _Drevas must be teaching her how to adventure._ ') before leveling that weary gaze on Serana, who was currently filling the iron tub with water from the irrigation spigot. And…just stood there, staring at Serana blankly. ' _Oooo-kay. Looks like I'm leading this off._ '

"It'll be easier, you know," began Serana gently, "if you take off your gear. It'll be kind of hard to wash yourself otherwise." The young woman, _Hermione_ Serana reminded herself, began slowly taking off the various bits of armor she was wearing, never taking her eyes off the vampire. ' _It's like she doesn't trust me,_ ' Serana thought as she heated the water with a fire spell, ' _Well, you managed to get Isran to…well, not_ like, _but he tolerates you. Just keep trying._ ' "Well, you go on and get in; I'll look about for some toiletries." Hermione just nodded again, stripping off her steel plate and leather gear with practiced ease…and no apparent care for modesty, but, hey, they were both girls. Serana dismissed the thought.

A rifle around the cabinet on the left side of the room produced a lump of fine pumice, a bar of soap, and a comb. Perfect; the new girl would be feeling right as rain in no time. Turning back to the young woman, she found Hermione (difficult name, but she'd remember it) already in the tub, holding a strange stick: it looked like it was made of vine, but vine that had been polished, finished, and clearly crafted for some purpose. It was also pointed in her general direction. Hmm.

"Well, that introduction in the main room was a bit _wanting_ ," Serana said, approaching Hermione, who kept her eyes on her and was _too_ still, "So how about we try again? I'm Serana Volkihar, and you are?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed briefly, before she replied in the same quiet tone as before, "I'm Hermione Granger," a pause, then the young woman continued, much to Serana's relief, "Master Drevas spoke of you, said you were a vampire and that your father wanted to take over Tamriel."

Serana laughed lightly, pulling up a chair to sit next to the bath, "Well, at least he told the truth, though that's quite a lot to lay on such a young person," she placed a tray on the lip of the tub, then put the pumice stone and soap on it while Hermione scowled at her.

"I'm not a child," oh my, was that petulance?

"I never said you were," Serana picked up a pair of scissors from the sink counter and sat in the chair, all while smiling in a disarming way. "So what's that stick for?"

Hermione looked down, looking surprised that she was holding it, "Oh, hells," and tossed it over on to her pile of clothes before burying her face in her hands while leaning back, "Sorry, force of habit. And it's a wand, I use it to cast spells."

Serana nodded, admiring the girl's physique. ' _Wow. Give her a few years, and she'll have to use that axe to keep suitors away instead of bandits_.' "So, where are you from?"

 **. . . . .**

I dragged my hands over my face, feeling both exhausted and a _little_ more at ease now that I was in a bath, before answering the dark-haired vampire, "I don't really know. Amnesia," and picked up the pumice to start getting the dirt off.

"Oh, well that's…wow, how'd you get Drevas to trust you, if you can't remember anything?" Was this woman ever going to stop asking questions?

I shrugged as I worked on my feet, "Dunno, I guess he didn't want me to die down in Blackreach." This Serana's eyes bulged; they looked like a couple glowing coals in black voids. ' _Weird_.'

" _Blackreach_?" She picked up a comb, as I nodded, eyeing those scissors warily, "What in the Eight were you-oh, wait, you probably don't remember. Sorry."

"It's fine…last thing I remember was getting brained by a Falmer. Hardly anything exciting there…" I trailed off, keeping one eye on her and another on a stubborn patch of dirt on my right calf.

"Oof, that sucks," Serana looked at the scissors, then at me with a hopeful smile, "I suppose the rest of the story involves Drevas hacking your hair off with a knife at some point, hmm?" I nodded, feeling a little bit better that she wasn't treating me like a child, "Well, how about I even this up?" She ran a hand, which felt _unnaturally warm_ , through the ragged mess on my head, adding, "I'll even leave some bangs to cover that scar."

A flinch ran through me, "You noticed," I thought I'd covered it well…

Then Serana tapped next to her eyes with a smirk, "Not much escapes my vision. Vampire, and all that."

 _Yeah_ , about that, "You're not going to… _drink_ me, are you?" What did she look so surprised for? That's a valid question!

Still, I needn't have worried, "Oh! No, no, I don't drink from people I'm friends with, or anyone who's friends with my friends, or innocent civilians…actually, if you're not a bandit, necromancer or Forsworn, you're in the clear!" She laughed a little, like that was _funny_ …which, considering who was fair game to her, it kind of _was_. Woe betide _those_ mad bastards.

Which was why I smiled and nodded for her to work on what was left of my hair.

The next hour or so was mostly spent in quiet conversation; I was focusing on cleaning myself up, while Serana focused on not messing up the haircut she was giving me. I also told her about Blackreach, leaving out the part with the Centurion and anything about the " _I'm from another world"_ situation, and the incident with the troll on the surface, but leaving out the bandit fight; that wound was still too raw. She turned out to be sympathetic to my worries, about failing or worse, which made me feel _marginally_ better; my revelation yesterday still shook me, making me wonder if I had what it took to find the way home in this mad world.

The haircut turned out pretty good too…even though I now looked like a _boy_ , what with my bangs falling over my scars on the right side of my head with the rest of my hair cut to a bare inch in length, but beggars can't be choosers. Plus…' _If I bind my breasts, I_ could _pass for a boy; who knows, it might lessen my chances of getting raped…I can't believe I just thought that_. _What a messed up world…_ '

The peace given by the mundane environment also gave me some time to think about how…different…this place was, compared to everywhere else I'd seen so far, as well as the women I've met, ' _This house is so…normal. I can't believe Master Drevas lives in such a rustic, boring place…Serana seems nice, but she'll be leaving with Drevas soon…And Lydia_ does _seem like a stick in the mud…I hope Master can help her understand what I've gone through; otherwise…I'll have to deal with these nightmares alone._ ' The ones I'd had were bad enough; now that I was safe, with my guard slowly lowering, they might start getting worse…and I didn't want that. Maybe Master had some ideas…

Close to the end of the hour, a loud " _WHAT?!_ " came from the other side of the door, making us both jump.

"That sounded like Lydia," Serana began to rise, but I stopped her.

"Drevas probably just told her about how I dropped a Centurion," oh, the look on her face was _priceless_.

" _You_ felled a _Centurion_?" at my nod, her face went _really serious_ , "How? Better yet, _why_ were you even fighting one in the first place?"

I shrugged. I was doing a lot of that lately. "We had to get past it to escape Blackreach, and fighting it was the path of least resistance; if we'd fought the bugger straight-up, one or both of us might have been injured. As to _how_ , I used a Siege-grade Bombardment Charm to blow it apart. Pretty straightforward actually, and sure, it was so loud that all the Falmer in the cave came down on us, but we were almost at the exit by then, and we're faster than those _fucking monsters_." I scrubbed harder with the soap while Serana gaped at me.

She slowly stood, looking like she was in shock. I watched as she moved over to the door, opening it a crack to call out in a shaky voice, "Drevas?"

My mentor's voice filtered through, " _What?_ " He also sounded slightly drunk, but I was too tired to care.

"Did this young woman _seriously_ blow up a _Centurion_?" What? She didn't believe me?...Well, we _did_ just get introduced, and she was more familiar with Master than I was.

" _Yep_ ," Drevas confirmed from the main room, " _Sorine would've shat herself to see it_."

Serana slowly closed the door, looking at me with wide eyes, "Who _are_ you?"

I gave her a sad smile, my eyes starting to burn at the innocent question, "I wish I knew."

Just like that, it felt like a flood gate had opened inside me; all the insecurities and doubts I'd had since waking up in that house five days ago came screaming to the front of my mind, and it was all I could do not to scream. As it was, I hugged my knees to my chest, buried my face in them, and started sobbing quietly. ' _I want to go home! I miss…Harry! I want to_ _ **remember**_ _! DAMN AMNESIA!_ '

Okay, maybe _not_ so quietly.

After a moment, Serana wrapped her arms around me, shushing and whispering encouragement at me; she was _really_ warm, and I don't know why but I felt safe here, so I found myself drifting off to sleep.

 **. . . . .**

Drevas watched Hermione's life-sign as she _finally_ broke down, and Serana moved to comfort her, ' _Well, the hard part's over. The rest is up to her._ ' He checked his bottle…empty; oh, and Lydia was glaring at him. "What?"

" _Far_ be it from me to criticize your choices, my Thane…but _why_ did you make such a young person your apprentice?" ' _Ah. Well, at least that's not a stupid question._ '

"You mean besides the fact that she's a powerful mage and needs to learn how to use her magic responsibly?" At Lydia's nod, Drevas continued, "The other reason is that she won't survive without someone to teach her how, and do you know anyone better suited for teaching survival techniques?"

His Housecarl wasn't having any of it, and deadpanned, "No, seeing as you're older and better traveled than Aela, but that doesn't mean you should be left to your own devices around children, especially unsupervised." ' _Wait…what?!_ '

Drevas raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong with the way I act that would prevent me from being around children? The ones here in Whiterun seem to like me." At that, Lydia buried her face in her hands and groaned _,_ ' _It_ probably _has something to do with how I dealt with the dragon at Skyborn Altar. She couldn't look me in the eye for days after that_.'

"Barring what you did at Skyborn," ' _Called it._ ' "The _utterly ridiculous_ amount of trouble you get into on a regular basis simply boggles the mind, and you subjected a recently injured _teenage girl_ with little to no experience in such matters to the insanity you partake in. My Thane, _please_ tell me you see how that's wrong."

" _Insanity_ , Lydia? A Dwemer ruin full of Falmer, one troll and a few bandits _hardly_ classifies as _insanity_. Besides, she took it well enough." Lydia stared at Drevas like he'd lost his mind, while the Dunmer in question just tried not to pass out in his chair.

"My Thane, _she's fifteen!_ " Lydia seemed insistent on that point, not to mention she was building to a rant, so Drevas shut her down before really she got going and said something to make him mad. He was _really_ tired, and the last thing he wanted to do was have an argument with an uppity Nord.

"And _you_ are twenty-seven, and see yourself as a role-model for the younger generation, yet find it perfectly acceptable to have a different man in your bed every other day; also, need I remind you how old _you_ were when you took your first life, or the life you led before swearing yourself to Jarl Balgruuf?" She wilted at that, but Drevas wasn't done, "Hermione is probably smarter than you, _hells_ , she's probably smarter than _Farengar_ , considering how fast she picked up what I've taught her thus far; I gave her a choice, and if she wants to be my apprentice and learn the ways of the world, then I won't stop her. Now _let me rest_." Lydia raised her hands in surrender, sighing, while Drevas rubbed his tired eyes. ' _Three days without a decent night's sleep, and_ this _is what I come home to_ ; _Mephala's saggy tits, what a week_.'

As if to punctuate his thought, the door to the bath opened; Serana carefully exited, Hermione's pack on her back, the girl herself curled up in her arms and bundled in the cloak she'd been wearing when Drevas found her. The Daughter of Coldharbour gave the Last Dragonborn a significant _look_ , then carried the exhausted young witch up the stairs, presumably to put her in a warm bed; Drevas just suppressed a weary groan, ' _Boethiah, lend me strength, lest these women be the end of me_.' The god-ancestor, as was usual when he wasn't in battle, apparently ignored him; sighing in resignation, the aged adventurer rose to begin his own bath.

"Was there anything else, Lydia?" He figured he'd best get any actual business out of the way before dealing with Serana.

"Err, yes my Thane," ' _Damnit all…_ ' "Irileth came by twice, something about inspecting the work crews erecting a new settlement in the hold's western reaches; according to her, the Jarl wants a place where new recruits can be trained, supplies and trade can be sorted for transport to and from Skyrim's westernmost holds, and an outpost for dealing with Forsworn incursions. Oh, and Sister Danica wishes to commemorate your assistance in restoring the Gildergreen by having a plaque installed in the Dragonsreach main hall," Lydia rattled off cheerfully as Drevas groaned piteously, all dreams of rest driven away by his incipient duties as Thane of Whiterun.

"Oh, _joy_ ; more accolades for hitting the right things." With that, he staggered his way to the bath while Lydia shook her head in amusement at her Thane's antics.

 **. . . . .  
Late Evening, 28** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Whiterun City, Breezehome, Guest Bedroom  
. . . . .**

I woke from a nightmare of dirty white fur and _blood_ in a large bed, Serana's too warm hands smoothing out my hair and catching part of the conversation she was having with Master Drevas; not wanting to interrupt, and wondering what they were talking about, I kept my eyes closed, and listened.

"…can you be certain? You don't _exactly_ have experience in dealing with other Dragonborn, do you?" Serana whispered.

From the foot of the bed came my mentor's equally quiet murmur, "The draugr _do_ count, at least the ones that can Shout; she described the sensation _exactly_." I kept myself from tensing; ' _They're talking about me using the_ Thu'um _. But…But anyone can learn it…right?_ '

Serana sighed, "This is too much, Drevas; another world, I can get behind that, given my experiences with Daedra," she paused, while I felt a bitter sting in my gut; ' _He told her…He said he wouldn't!_ ' Her next words, however, filled me with dread: "But you're saying she's _Dragonborn_ , like you are. That can't be possible, can it? I certainly don't see Akatosh allowing for such a thing." ' _What? No…That can't be!_ '

I opened my eyes, surprising Serana who withdrew her hand; she was wearing a dark blue shirt that looked too large for her, judging from how it hung off her shoulders. Lifting my head up to look at Drevas, he was knelt at the foot of the bed wearing his usual black attire; he looked so _old_ , like a lifetime of regrets were making themselves known on his face. My own face probably wasn't much better; I could practically _feel_ the bags under my eyes, and I still felt so very _tired_ , but I had to know. He knew something, he _had_ to know something about this.

I whispered, "The sensation I felt, when you used that life-sign Shout, you've felt it too?" At his nod, I hissed, "And I'm only finding this out _now?!_ "

Before I could even get properly mad, Drevas spoke softly, tiredness creeping into his voice, "When would I have told you, hmm? I'd already laid some pretty heavy truths on you, between the house and the tower; then that woman went and _killed herself_ all over you," I flinched at the reminder of that awful moment, "and you've been a wreck ever since." He swiped a hand over his eyes, trying to stave off tiredness, before continuing, "In addition, it's probably my fault you can use the _Thu'um_ in the first place; whether or not you're actually _Dovahkiin_ remains to be seen."

"What do you mean, Drevas?" asked Serana, echoing my thoughts.

Said Dunmer took a deep breath to steady himself, before replying, "Hermione, in addition to your head injury, you took an arrow through your right calf, missing the bones but severing an artery; you lost a _considerable_ amount of blood, but you knew that from cleaning your clothes. Now, do you know what a field transfusion is?" At my negative head shake, he explained, "It's where one person donates blood directly from their body to a person who desperately needs it, usually in the event where the patient is unconscious; some potions, like those that replenish blood, can have… _unfortunate_ side-effects if the person isn't conscious when taking them, you see. Anyway, seeing as the potential for Dragonborn is carried through the blood, which some mages view as the currency of the soul, I theorize that your ability to use the _Thu'um_ stems from my…ability being imprinted onto your soul through my gift of blood."

' _Holy shite…wait,_ ' "But…you've done these transfusions before, right?"

"Well, yes, but that was before I'd killed a dragon; absorbing the dragon's…life-force, I suppose, unlocked my potential. It's the mark of the _Dovahkiin_ , being able to do that, and I'm _not_ about to throw you at a _friggin'_ _dragon_ to find out if you can as well."

I sighed in relief, ' _Thank the gods for_ that _! I'm still getting over the troll; no fire-breathing flying lizards, please!_ ' "Well, I don't blame you for doing it, even if I'm…Dragonborn, now. Just another advantage I can use to survive, right?"

Drevas smiled, "Quite. Who knows; with two _Thu'um_ users out and about, Skyrim might get less chaotic. No one wants to piss one of us off; just look at Stormcloak and the Greybeards."

"All well and good," Serana interjected, "but we still have a problem: Hermione _might_ be Dragonborn. What are you going to do about it?"

I had the answer to that one, "He's already done something about it," my mentor must be _really_ tired, as he joined Serana in looking at me questioningly, "You've taken me in as your apprentice; you taught me a Shout, even if it's a passive one; and you've brought me here, where you're well-liked and respected. You're going to assign someone to train me in combat and/or look after me while you're away, aren't you?" Serana eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Drevas just smirked and nodded.

Then, to Serana, he said, "See? I told you, smarter than the average sprog, she is," my mentor turned to me, "And yes; you'll be learning the basics of using that axe from Lydia while Serana and I go to inspect a fledgling settlement, which will take a day or two. I'll have a chat with the Jarl's court wizard, Farengar, about giving you magic lessons as well; that wand certainly is useful, but, well, fallbacks." I nodded with a small smile, feeling excited about learning more magic. "Once Lydia feels you have the basics down, and _I'm_ satisfied with the results, you'll be introduced to a professional trainer to hone your abilities. On top of all that, I'll write down what words of power I know so you can meditate on them; fair warning: do _not_ practice the _Thu'um_ inside the city, as I won't be responsible for you burning someone's house down by accident."

I narrowed my eyes, "I'm not irresponsible, master. _You_ , on the other hand…" he glared at me, and I could almost feel Serana smirking, so I finished, "need rest, and so do I. Bugger off."

Drevas groaned, "Women." And got out of the room _very_ quickly for someone his age and level of exhaustion.

"Ugh," I fell back onto my pillow, "What an _arse_." Serana smiled down at me, turning so her body was facing me before lying down. I turned my head and looked into glowing eyes filled with mirth, "So, why are you here? The bed's warm enough without you turning it into an oven."

The vampire just smiled, "I figured you'd want a sympathetic ear; our situations _are_ similar, after all." ' _Oh, right; she was locked in a tomb for over a thousand years_.'

So I smiled back, " _You_ at least knew what the world would look like; I feel like I'm adrift in a sea of madness without a compass."

Serana just shrugged, "Yeah, it _does_ feel like that sometimes…okay, _most_ of the time. But what's life without a little excitement?"

"A little _less_ excitement would be appreciated, thank you very much," I grinned while Serana laughed, before I sobered a bit, "I still can't believe that woman _killed herself_."

Serana's smile faded a bit, "Tell me what happened."

So I did, speaking in hushed whispers and sparing no detail; I told her about killing that rapist bandit, who I now realized was my first real kill; I told her about freeing his victim, and her horrible suicide; by the time I was done relating the whole event, I was near tears again, "I-I just don't get it! She was _safe_ , she'd survived what they'd done to her, so _why?!_ "

"She gave up hope," the vampire next to me said sadly; looking at her face, Serana's eyes were distant as she went on, "When you're in a situation like that, the best thing you can do is find something to hold onto, like a memory that makes you _feel something_. Otherwise, with each violation you die a little more inside, until you have no hope of being the person you were…before. That woman, she lost herself long before you arrived; by the sound of it, she decided to kill herself the first chance she got, to spare living with the shame. It's not your fault, it's the bandit's." When she put it that way…I felt a bit better, having it put into perspective like that.

But… there was something I didn't understand, "Feel something? What do you mean?"

She smiled a little, just a quirk at the edge of her lips, "It can be anything, like…well, when _I_ went through…something like _that_ , I thought about the feel of the sun on my skin, the wind in my hair, the smells of the sea; if I thought about _freedom_ , and nothing else, I'd survive," she shrugged, "It wasn't happy, or sad, but it got me through."

"Sorry, Serana, but I don't see how anyone would be stupid enough to do _that_ to a vampire," said I disbelievingly.

Her smile only grew, "Do you know where vampirism comes from, Hermione?"

I wracked my brain for a moment, then nodded, "It was in that book on necromancy; vampirism originated from a Daedric Prince, supposedly as a blessing. It didn't say _which_ Prince, though, and there's sixteen of them…" I trailed off, realizing what she was implying by her lingering smile and sad eyes, " _You?_ You got your vampirism directly from the _source_?" Oh wow.

Serana nodded, "Did Drevas tell you who my family worships?"

' _Oh holy_ _ **shite**_ _!_ ' "You mean to tell me…that you became a vampire…by offering yourself to _Molag Bal_?!" I whispered in shock and horror; at her nod, my blood ran cold, " _Why_ , in the name of all that's good, would you _do that?_ "

"The times were different, and I really didn't know much else; I rarely saw the world outside the castle," shrugged Serana, "And it's not like I didn't prepare for the event. See, in cults to Old Molag, young women are offered up to Him on His summoning day to be…' _tested_ ', so most of my childhood was spent in preparation for that day. Still," now she looked a _mite_ uncomfortable, not meeting my eyes, "it was…degrading, to say the least; I wouldn't recommend it," those glowing eyes met mine once again, "Not everyone survives the ordeal, but those that do are reborn as an apex predator, a pure-blooded vampire: the Daughters of Coldharbour."

Wow. "Are there a lot of you? Daughters of Coldharbour, I mean."

Apparently not, "No. In fact, I'm the _third_ daughter my parents had; my older sisters all died in the same trial I performed. My mother is one, too, but that sort of thing isn't hereditary, hence the ritual."

I didn't think it was possible to be _physically_ in awe of someone, let alone a vampire; to go through all that, and come out so…well-adjusted and _normal_. Even so, it needed to be said: "Serana, no offence, but your family sounds _really fucked up_." Seriously, for her parents to put their _own daughter_ through something like _that_ …

"None taken," the vampire replied with a dry laugh, "It's actually part of why I left; my father's gone mad, thinking he can take over all of Tamriel just because of a stupid prophecy and the power he holds. No," Serana shook her head, frowning, "I don't think our power and immortality should be used like that. It's not right…"

Her tone when she spoke reminded me of something Harry had once told me, when talking about magic and our responsibility as magic-users: "We've been given this great power, but look what some people use it _for_ ; no, 'Mione, that's not me. Magic should be used to make people's lives _better_ , it shouldn't be hidden, like we should be ashamed of it; what's the point of getting stronger, if we can't make the whole world a better place to live?"

The passion with which Serana spoke reminded me of that little speech from a blurry memory; it _endeared_ me to this vamp-no, this _person_ , and I wondered if her thoughts would be the same as my Harry's. I turned to face her fully, smiling and taking one of her hands in mine, asking, "So what would you do with it, if you had the chance?"

She smiled right back, looking a bit bashful, "No one's ever really asked, but…I'd work on expanding medicine through Alchemy, to help people live longer, maybe even wipe out disease entirely; or I could dabble in politics, just advising though, as I don't really have a desire for power; but if I could change or pass a few laws to make everyone safer, it would be worth it," she grinned, and _wow, those fangs look sharp_ , "But no one really trusts a vampire to make the world a better place."

I hummed, remembering how tense Lydia looked when Serana walked too close to her; I really didn't understand the Housecarl's attitude. Once you got to know her, Serana was a very nice person to be around. That brought an idea into my head, as I began drifting off to sleep, so I shared it with the beautiful woman next to me, "Then…don't be a vampire to them. Be a _person_ , and I'm sure they'll come around."

As I fell back into the realm of dreams (and nightmares), my last sight was of Serana's pleasantly surprised face.

 **. . . . .**  
 **29** **th** **First Seed, 4E201  
Whiterun City  
. . . . .**

I was woken by an annoying sunbeam slipping through the curtains of the room's only window; bloody buggering sun, waking me at this unholy hour. And I'd been having such a nice dream too. I snuggled into the nice, warm pillow pressing against my face, smiling and committing the dream to memory.

I was in the bath from yesterday, just washing myself, when Harry walked in. Just remembering the heated snogging that occurred made me blush and go all tingly. But…then _Serana_ had appeared in the dream…joining us in the tub…

' _Oh…wow_ ,' I thought, realizing what had happened, ' _That raises rather_ a lot _of questions about myself…Best head to the loo, then breakfast, then work out for a while, then learn how to use that axe I picked up, then_ ignore those questions with a **vengeance**.'

It was then that I realized not only could I not move to give reality to those plans, but the warm body pillow I was curled up against was _breathing_.

Opening my eyes, I realized that both Serana and I must like to move about in our sleep, not to mention enjoy cuddling. Her left arm was wrapped around my shoulders, while my left hand was resting between her breasts, my face pressed into the side of her ample bosom; as if _that_ wasn't embarrassing enough, my left leg was draped across her _bare waist_ , Serana's shirt having ridden up during the night, and she was holding my _equally bare_ thigh with a blazingly warm hand, my robe having parted in the front, leaving _absolutely nothing between us_ , save my right arm, which was between her side and my body.

Turning redder than a tomato, I thought furiously how to wake the gently snoring woman gently, even as my treacherous mind informed me she smelled delightfully of nightshade, with a hint of copper. ' _NO! Bad brain!_ '

" _Serana,_ " I whispered urgently, tapping her breastbone and _praying_ Master Drevas didn't walk in, " _Serana. Wake up!_ "

"Mmmhmm," moaned Serana, pulling me _closer_ , forcing a startled ' _Eep!_ ' from my lips as the action applied pressure in certain… _places_ , "Five more minutes, mum."

Okay, seriously? "I am _not_ your mother, Serana," said I in the sternest whisper I could manage, given my rather compromising position, "Now _wake up!_ "

Her eyes flew open, orange eyes full of surprise darting down to my burning red face, "Oh! Gods, Hermione, I'm so sorry!" She immediately released me, both of us parting to a respectable distance and straightening our clothes.

"Its fine," I said shakily, forcing down some _very_ inappropriate thoughts as I did so, "No harm done…and you're _really warm_ , so it's kind of my fault too." ' _Gah! Stop making a fool of yourself, Ganger!_ '

Have you ever seen a vampire blush? It's _really weird_ ; like pink spider webs forming on their cheeks. "Oh…err, well…Let's just agree we're both at fault, hmm?" I nodded quickly, and Serana visibly relaxed, then grinned mischievously and quipped, "On the other hand, I always wanted a stuffed animal to cuddle at night…" ' _NO! DO_ _ **NOT**_ _THINK ABOUT THAT SENTENCE! BAD BRAIN!_ ' If my face got any hotter, it might spontaneously combust!

Suddenly, the door opened; seeing as I was still a little on edge, what with the sporadic nightmares and embarrassing moments, not to mention the fact that Serana and I were hardly decent, I reacted on instinct, snatching up my wand from the bedside table and casting the first spell that came to mind with feeling. " _Flipendo!_ "

And sent Master Drevas, in full armor with a daft helmet crowned with ram's horns pointing straight up, flying across the hall and through a poor, innocent door, shattering it and eliciting a high-pitched feminine scream from the room's occupant, Lydia, who had apparently been in the process of getting dressed.

"Master!" Oh bugger me, I just killed the Dragonborn!

"Drevas!" cried Serana in horror. ' _Oh crap, she's going to drain me dry for this._ '

"My Thane!" Lydia sounded both shocked and worried. ' _Or I'll just get executed. I hope the axe isn't blunt_.'

"Good morning, ladies!" Drevas called cheerfully from the floor of Lydia's room, apparently no worse for wear, much our collected relief. "Now that we're all wide awake: Serana, get kitted. We're leaving to inspect that settlement in an hour. Hermione, once you're done with your morning routine, meet Lydia out back for basic axe training, then head over to Dragonsreach after lunch for your first lessons with Farengar; you can spend the rest of the day after lessons going over my notes on the _Thu'um_. Lydia, I've left instructions in your desk drawer for a multitude of situations that may arise in my absence, so your job should be a lot easier; now, if someone could _please_ help me up?"

There are all sorts of exciting ways to start one's day, and that was pretty much one of them.

 **. . . . .**

My morning went much like Master Drevas said it would; breakfast, a quick workout, and axe training with Lydia, with Serana leaving with him shortly after breakfast. The second half of the day was…more interesting, mainly because I was allowed out of the house on my own.

Speaking of the house, now that I wasn't stuck in melancholic apathy to my surroundings, I managed to take a good look around my new abode while performing my exercises.

Breezehome was shaped like a 't', with the main room forming the long part, a bathroom at the top, and a pantry on the right of the 't'; the room on the left, below the staircase to the second floor, was magically locked. I was told by Lydia that it was Master Drevas' Alchemy Lab, and only he was allowed entry, mainly due to the volatility of several ingredients stored within. I wondered if he'd teach me Alchemy; also, I wondered how it differed from potion brewing. What knowledge I had on Potions was probably useless anyway, seeing as the ingredients I'd need didn't exist, so studying what passed for potions in this world was added to my 'to do' list.

The main room wasn't as interesting as a locked magical laboratory, with a table and chairs near the pantry, an overfilled bookshelf (which I was immediately resolved to read and organize) situated near a fire pit (for cooking meals and heating), more chairs for lounging about, and a worn table next to the door that, I was told, was used for cleaning armor. All in all, it was cozy, if a bit sparse; there weren't any wall decorations beyond some Nordic dream-catchers, and a painting of a castle in the sky in the upstairs hallway.

The second floor had three bedrooms, connected to a small hallway. Lydia's bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and I was told to 'stay out!' by its occupant after magically repairing her door. Across the hall was a guest room, which I was currently sharing with Serana, containing a double bed, wardrobe, dresser, two trunks and a wash basin; cozy. The room in the middle of the hall was Master Drevas', and was locked in the same way as his Lab.

While I was learning how to safely parry a sword with my axe, Lydia told me the reason: while he was away, Serana had gotten into a box of banned books he kept under his bed, which had resulted in some embarrassing moments for the Housecarl, which she related to me with frustrated growls and harder blows of her blunt training sword.

I still thought the stories were funny, completely worth the burning pain in my arms and shoulders; melee combat isn't as easy as Drevas makes it look!

A lunch of corned beef-filled bread rolls and veggies later, I was on my way up to Dragonsreach to meet with the Jarl's court wizard, Farengar Secret-Fire, clad in dark blue robes with white trim and my usual boots; walking up the stairs to the Wind District near the city barracks, I looked about the Plains District, with its bronze-roofed wooden houses clustered together all slapdash, and matched up what I'd read of this city to the reality.

Whiterun was constructed atop a large hill with a natural spring beneath the keep; it was this spring that brought water to the houses of the city via a series of Empire-constructed aqueducts, which were constructed back in the early Third Era. The aquifer that fed the spring also fed several other springs in the surrounding fields, providing a fertile land for farming. This was the major reason Ysgramor's Companions first settled the hill in the Merethic Era, that and the abundance of game in the mountains to the south.

The city is divided into three tiers, from lowest to highest on the hill: Plains, Wind and Cloud Districts. Breezehome, the city smithy, Warmaiden's, the city barracks, the marketplace and tavern were all contained in the Plains District, and was where most of Whiterun's working folk, farmers, hunters and the like, lived their lives. The Wind District contained the manor houses for the city's oldest families, the Battle-Born's and Gray-Mane's, descendants of those first settlers, as well as the Hall of the Dead for burials, a Temple to Divine Kynareth, which acted as a house of healing, and the oldest building in Whiterun, if not the oldest constantly-occupied building in all of Skyrim: Jorrvaskr, constructed from the Companion's longboat of the same name, around _five_ -thousand years ago, and the founding structure which Whiterun was built around.

It was to this building my gaze was eventually drawn, as I walked into the courtyard in the Wind District. The bread-loaf shaped building sitting squat atop a lesser hill, a staircase of weathered stone leading up to its doors, with the Gildergreen in bloom, pink flowers seeming to dance with the wind along to the water's music coming from the open aqueducts near the square; it was easily the most beautiful thing I'd seen since leaving Blackreach.

Figuring I had a few minutes to spare, I leant against one of the pillars of the wooden ring encircling the tree and just enjoyed the view. A few citizens were about in the square, some going to and fro around the city, while others took advantage of the warm early spring day; a Redguard couple having a quiet conversation on a bench, the wife's eyes looking concerned, glancing between her love and the Temple of Kyne, as her husband laid an arm about her shoulders in comfort, tension bleeding out of her as she leant into his touch. A tall Nord, wearing armor with wolves emblazoned on it, was listening to a hunter's tale, the shorter, fur clad Imperial gesticulating with his hands while his shaggy-haired listener nodded along in interest. A brown haired girl in brown-gold priestess' robes was leaning against the wall of the temple, apart from the bustle of the square, looking up at the Gildergreen with contentment on her face.

It _was_ a really nice day. But, well, no rest for the wicked; I had lessons in magic to attend! I pushed off the pillar with a sigh, glancing to the mead-hall on the hill one more time, and was halfway to the stairs to the keep when a shout went up.

" _Daedra worshipper!_ " slurred a voice off to my right; glancing over curiously, I had just enough time to raise my hands and catch the heavy leather-bound tome that had been flung at my head! " _Consort of elves! How DARE you defile this holy site!_ "

The speaker was a Nord, dressed in robes marking him as a priest to Talos, and was currently staggering his way toward me and brandishing his finger at me like I was some misbehaving child. Well I never! "And how dare _you_ , sir, flinging books at innocent bystanders and hurling baseless accusations!" A glance at the poor, defenseless book's tattered and stained cover, _Ten Commands, Nine Divines_ , had me seething at the disrespect shown to the tome, but the drunken priest was not to be deterred.

" _Baseless?!_ You accuse _me_ , Heimskr, chosen prophet of mighty Talos, of _lies_ , little _whore of the Thalmor_?!" Need I say all that was spat and slurred at five paces from me? Also, this guy smelt like he took a bloody _bath_ in whiskey, so, yeah, **_eww_**. "I've seen you in the company of _elves and daedra_ , do not deny!" Wait, was he talking about Scales and Master?

A couple of guards, who'd been standing over near the path to the market, glanced at each other and began to make their way over, so I decided to make my allegiances clear, and did so loudly, "You mean _Thane_ Drevas and his clannfear? Well, I _am_ his apprentice, so you may have some _vague_ point, but that doesn't excuse you from assaulting young ladies on the street!"

The drunken gobshite was having none of it, though, " _Foreigners and monsters, she says!_ In the name of mighty Talos, _I will show you the light!_ " and drew a rusty knife on me! My hand flew to my wand case-

 _Thwack!_ Right as the head of a gnarled, wooden staff collided with this Heimskr's groin, courtesy of the young priestess who'd been relaxing by the Temple.

"Heim _skr!_ " growled the girl, maybe a few years younger than me, through gritted teeth at the groaning drunk, "What did Sister Danica say?!" she wound up for another blow, " _Leave!_ "

 _Thwack!_ "Ghaa!" Right in the knee!

" _The people!_ "

 _Thwack!_ "Oww! _Damn harpy!_ " Another across the shoulder, driving him further away from me; she was herding him to the guards!

" ** _ALONE!_** "

 _Thwack!_ One more, in his bum, sent him yelping and staggering into the arms of the two guards, who then began dragging him over to a small shack next to the Talos Shrine, across the square from the Temple.

And everyone who'd been watching the scene, the Redguard couple and the two hunters, went back about their day like nothing happened; well, except myself, clutching the book to my chest with one arm and watching the little priestess calming herself. After a moment of watching her fume with frustration, I decided to address her, "Hey, thanks," she turned to me questioningly, "I, um, probably would have hurt him, if he attacked me, so…thank you."

She raised an eyebrow at me, frowning for some reason, "Are you _really_ Thane Drevas' apprentice?"

Oh. I laughed, "Well, yeah. He found me half-dead in a Dwemer ruin, and, once I was healed up, was so impressed with my magical abilities against the Falmer he took me under his wing, taught me to defend myself, yeah?" That got rid of her confusion, if the interested look on her face was any indication, "Nice job with that drunk, though; I'm guessing that's a common occurrence?" Comprehension and mild embarrassment colored the young priestess' face.

" _Ohh_ , that explains it, then; you're new here in Whiterun. Sorry for being suspicious, and yeah, Heimskr gets like that every once in a while. He did that to me, too, when I first got here," she explained with an eye roll and scoff, "Idiot called me a _baby troll_ , and tried to hurl a brick at me. Miss Irileth put him in the dungeons for a _week_ after that one!" She laughed, I laughed, and the remaining tension bled away.

"I'm Hermione, by the way," I introduced myself, "Adventurer in training and Drevas' apprentice. It's nice to meet you."

"Lucia," replied the priestess with a little bow, "Priestess Aspirant of Kynareth and apprentice to Sister Danica Pure-Spring. Pleasure to meet you." Wow, that sounded much more impressive than my intro!

I glanced at the poor battered holy book in my arms, before offering it to Lucia, "Here. Master Drevas already has a copy, and you'll probably take better care of it than that _arse_ has," she took the book, shifting her staff to her back.

"You sound like you're madder about the book's treatment than what he said to you," I don't know why, but the wry smile Lucia had when she said that made me a little angrier, because she was _right_.

"Well I am! I know what he said was untrue, and he's probably crazy, but that doesn't give him the right to treat books that way, especially if he's a priest, _which I doubt_ ," huffed I as Lucia nodded in agreement, "Anyway, I got to go up to Dragonsreach; Master Drevas set me up to learn magic from the court wizard, Farengar."

The Aspirant wrinkled her nose, "You're going to learn magic from _Farengar?_ " The way she said his name made me worried about my coming lessons; at my hesitant nod, she went on in a conspiratorial whisper, "Well, word of advice, Hermione: don't let his attitude get to you. He's a brilliant mage, but, in my opinion, and pardon my language, he could do with getting his head out his arse."

Okay, huh? "So…he's not a nice person?" If I find Master Drevas set me up with an arsehole…

"Oh, it's not that. He means well, but he's…umm," Lucia looked like she was trying to find a word that was polite enough not to offend me while getting her point across, "Err…he's…annoying? No, that doesn't quite say it…"

"Pretentious?" I supplied hopefully, which gained me another confused look, so I gave her the definition, "It means someone or something that attempts to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, stuff like that."

It seems I hit the nail on the head, "Yes! Exactly that, he's pretentious; I mean, there's nothing wrong with the school of Restoration! It's _so_ useful, for more than just healing, too; but _Farengar_ looks down his nose at anything that isn't related to the Enchanting school." Well, now I know why Drevas set me up with him, what with the enchanting I did in Blackreach, but Lucia seemed to want to rant about this guy, "It's _infuriating_ , dealing with him, especially when you need an amulet or ring checked out for curses; he acts like I'm an idiot and called Master Danica _incompetent_!" She fumed, still speaking quietly so as not to disturb the peace. "I mean, he didn't _say_ that, but it's what he _meant!_ "

Well! "Thanks for the advice, Lucia," said I with a smile, speaking just as quietly, "Don't worry about me, though; I'm willing to learn, but if he gives me lip or insults my master, I'll turn him into a pigeon." I gave a toothy grin at the end while Lucia looked bemused.

"A pigeon? That would be funny, Hermione, if it were possible," Ooh, was that _challenge_ in her eye? Must be an apprentice thing…

But I drew my wand anyway, picking up a pebble, "Lucia," a tap of my wand and muttered incantation turned the pebble into a sparrow, which flew with a twitter into the Gildergreen's branches, "We can do magic; anything is possible."

Lucia looked between the sparrow-pebble and myself, momentarily awed into speechlessness, before, "Wha-how? Is that an illusion?"

"Nope, just applied Mysticism and Alteration," chirped I, using the cover story I'd developed, with Lydia's help, over lunch, "It'll wear off in a few minutes; I'm not good enough to make things like that permanent," I finished, trying to sound modest.

She was still impressed, "That's still amazing! Hey, um, do you think we could take lunch together tomorrow? All the other kids my age don't like hanging around me, call me a busybody…" she trailed off in a small voice, but I got the gist of it.

They were picking on her because she was an apprentice? "Yeah, sure!" She looked up, happily surprised I acquiesced, as I went on, "We apprentices should stick together, after all! The more we both know, the better we'll do in our lessons!" Plus, I could have someone my age to talk to; Lydia was nice, but she was _old_.

Then a bell struck the hour and we both realized I was probably late to said lessons, and Lucia to her duties! "Oh! I'll see you tomorrow then, Hermione!" Lucia bid farewell before walking briskly back to the temple, as I ran for the steps to Dragonsreach.

"I'll be there at noon! Later, Lucia!" I called back, feeling much better than I did when I woke up that morning. Roof over my head, a library in house, magic lessons, and I'd made a friend!

I had a feeling I was going to like living in Whiterun!

 **. . . . .**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .**

 **A/N:**

 ***cries piteously* finally…After computer troubles, and being assaulted by a rabid plot-bunny with** ** _nasty, big, pointy teeth_** **…**

 **It's…It's DONE!**

 **I really like how this chapter turned out; it sets the scene for Hermione's stay in Whiterun, which should last for the next chapter or two, and we get some mild fluff in the form of Serana. What? I thought it was cute!**

 **Anywho, that rabid plot bunny gave me a story that I've written part of a first chapter for, so keep an eye out for that being posted before the next chapter of this story. It's called 'Unforgivable' and is suitably dark in its content.**

 **Review please! ~Baked**

Next Time: Hermione steps up her training, gets up close with the draugr, and reads a letter.


	7. Chapter 6: Patterns of Life and Death

**The Disclaimer is in Chapter 1.**

 **. . . . .  
_\|/_**

 **Chapter 6:**

 **Patterns of Life and Death  
. . . . .**

 **. . . . .  
1st Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Whiterun City  
. . . . .**

Four days. That's how long my lessons with Farengar lasted before I created my first Enchanting Masterwork.

Our first meeting had me only half-listening as the mage gave me a condescending lecture on the apparent superiority of the Enchanting school of Magic over virtually every other school; to be honest, most of what he was on about had to do with the _theory_ that Enchanting could render all other forms of magic inert. The fact that one needed to actually _learn_ those spells, all of which were part of a school that _wasn't_ Enchanting, _before_ placing the enchantments seemed to escape the court wizard entirely.

The half of my mind that wasn't memorizing every word he spouted at me was cursing Master Drevas for foisting me off on this _arse_ , while simultaneously wondering if I could convince Lydia to set me up with a bag lunch on the morrow. Lucia seemed a good sort, what with warding off Heimskr and warning me about this _utter gobshite_ , so getting to know her seemed only natural. Anyway, by the end of the lesson I realized I wouldn't actually be performing any enchanting until I learned how spell patterns effect objects; I resolved to find as many books on the subject in Breezehome as possible, so I could make my own enchantments and wouldn't have to listen to Farengar describe, at great length, how enchanting changed the world.

That, and soul gems are kinda creepy; I wanted to learn how to make the ink that goes into scrolls, as that seemed less…Dark, I suppose, but Farengar said that was for Masters only. Sod.

Reading over Master Drevas' notes on the _Thu'um_ in the afternoon calmed my frustration with both Farengar and my Dark Elf mentor. Unrelenting Force, Whirlwind Sprint, Aura Whisper, Fire Breath, Marked for Death, and _more_ ; the words written on those pages burrowed into my mind and made themselves at home, leaving behind the _oddest_ sensation of my _brain_ itching! If it weren't for a note at the beginning of the journal, explaining that this was normal and would fade in an hour or so, I'd probably have panicked and burnt Breezehome down, or something.

The next three days were fairly routine: I'd wake, do my morning exercises (which now included ten minutes of meditative breathing, to ease my body into using the _Thu'um_ ), spar with Lydia for an hour, learn and practice magic under Serana's supervision (once she and Drevas returned to the city in the evening on 30th First Seed) for two hours, have an hour lunch with Lucia in a small park near the Hall of the Dead, where we'd complain about our respective masters and show off what we'd learned, have Farengar beat information on soul gem harmonics, tiered magical lattices and pattern/effect distinction into my head…for _three hours_ …without teaching me a single spell! Ugh…then off to the ruined Western Watchtower, where I could practice Shouting without being seen. Except by Scales, who _somehow_ always found me once I crossed a small stream just to the west of Whiterun's outer gateway; not that I was complaining, fond of him as I was. The day would end with me researching everything I could on enchanting by raiding Breezehome's library for all three books Drevas had on the subject; luckily for me, all three were useful.

Out of all of those things, the most useful thing I picked up was from Serana. Okay, fine, and Lydia; I'd gotten pretty good with deflecting swords with that axe by the second day, so we'd moved on to blunt weapons on the third day, but I digress.

Serana dragged me by my arm up to our shared room on the night of the 30th, telling me as we went that I needed a break from learning Shouts, and that "It's high time you learned how to control your magic." Never mind my protests that I hadn't failed a spell since I got here!

Seated on the floor of our room, Serana kicked off her lecture on magical theory, "Can you tell me where magic comes from, Hermione?"

It took me a second of wracking my brain, but, "Magic comes from the world around us; wild magic can't be contained easily, and, when it gathers in certain places like ritual sites or natural springs, usually results in magical creatures like trolls or…spriggans. Men, Mer and Beastfolk are capable of using magic because they've…err, adapted to their surroundings over time; I guess, the books weren't very clear on that part," I grumbled, before going on, "Regardless, we can use spells by using the magic within ourselves, which replenishes over time through our connection to earth, sky and water."

"You forgot fire, but that's word-for-word from a magical theory text," nodded Serana, who went on, "Using magic, as you'll no doubt have learned from the same book, is the result of forcing a part of your magic, using willpower and intent, into a certain pattern," and she created a ball of light in her hand, tossing it into the air where it hovered.

"Candlelight," I observed; Lucia showed me how to do this spell in exchange for my teaching her how to turn a rock into a cup. Took me two hours, and Farengar wasn't pleased with my lateness, but she managed it in the end.

My roommate nodded, "You know how the patterns work then?"

"Yes," said I, nodding enthusiastically, "Candlelight is two parts 'sunburst' patterns for light, interspersed with three parts 'circle' patterns for stability, with one 'thread' thrown in to connect it to your magic," That was the biggest difference between the two schools of magic, my own and Tamrielic: whereas my wand magic had to do with intent, wand motions, and incantations to produce effects, Tamrielic magic needed to form a 'pattern', formed from a long series of simple pictographs representing a different overall effect, to produce any spell at all.

There were also something like five _hundred_ different symbols to use, all of which were recorded in a thick book called _Aetherial Symbology_ ; Drevas owned a copy, which was (according to Lydia) currently in a safe in his Alchemy Lab. Bright side: I'd have it, on loan, once he left with Serana to find her mother and the third Elder Scroll.

Back to the present, Serana smiled, "Very good; now, Drevas said you had a good mind for magic, hence why you're learning Enchanting. It's one of the more esoteric practices of magic, as you're adding a pattern to something that _already_ has its own pattern," at my confused expression, she explained, "Everything around us has its own pattern; stone, flesh, soil, metal, air, _everything_. Even natural magic has its own pattern, though that pattern can change from one moment to the next depending on where you are. Believe it or not, Illusion, Mysticism, and Conjuration follow the same rules as Enchanting: with Illusion, you're changing the way a natural pattern functions for a period of time, paralyzing foes, silencing your steps, turning invisible, things like that; with Mysticism, you change the way magic behaves, either internally or externally, and if you're good at it you can manipulate those forces to your will, but unlike the other two schools, Mysticism is only limited by one's own imagination; Conjuration allows you to bend magic to your will, making weapons or armor made from magic, summoning creatures from Oblivion, raise the dead to do your bidding (though Drevas told me to tell you that if he finds you've been practicing necromancy, he'll have to hurt you), even telepathy over distances, though that's rare. Those three schools, though different, have one thing in common with Enchanting: they all change the pattern of something that already exists."

Okay, Serana obviously knew what she was talking about; I still had some questions, like, "But doesn't Alteration change things too?"

Shaking her head, Serana explained why that wasn't the case, "Alteration _adds_ a pattern to an object or space in real time; sure, the effects are as varied as the other schools, but they don't _change_ the pattern permanently. It's like…like putting on armor, I think?" She paused, looking confused herself.

"You're not very good at Alteration, are you?"

"No, I'm not; Drevas is though, hold on. DREVAS!" she hollered.

A pause, then a raspy voice called back from the ground floor, "WHAT?"

"SIMPLIFY WHAT ALTERATION IS LIKE, PLEASE!"

Another pause, longer this time, before, "IT'S LIKE PUTTING ON CLOTHES, BUT WITH MAGIC!"

"THANKS! So, yeah," Serana continued in a normal voice while I wiggled a finger in my now ringing ear, "as entirely unhelpful that simplification was, that's what Alteration is like." I don't know what was weirder: the way the adults in my life interacted, or the fact I actually _understood_ what Drevas said.

The rest of our lesson revolved around the patterns of magic, and what you should and _should never_ do with them; oddly, they all followed a ratio pattern to produce effects. Candlelight was a good example, or Firebolt, which was four parts 'sunburst', nine parts 'torch', and two parts 'gust of wind'. For those wondering, you have to shape your magic internally into these patterns before forcing it into the world; in a way, magic here in Tamriel was like applying Arithmancy to Ancient Runes, except without all the carving and Algebra.

Speaking of which, that lesson gave me an idea for an enchanting project, but it wasn't until the next evening, sitting at the dinner table and butchering the roasted potatoes on my plate, thinking about the (boring) lesson on soul gem harmonics I had earlier that day and applying it to my other studies, that I puzzled out how to make that idea a reality.

"I'VE GOT IT!" I cried, thumping a fist on the table with an excited grin; looking about, I saw my housemates looking at me oddly. Oh. Embarrassed, I gave a sheepish chuckle, "Ah, haha, sorry…"

"No, by all means, do tell," Drevas said dryly with a smirk of amusement.

"It's stupid…" fidgeted I, not meeting his eyes. ' _I don't even know if it'll work…_ '

Lydia scoffed next to me, "I don't think you've done a stupid thing since you got here, dear."

"Aye," agreed Serana, "Out with it."

Trying and failing to put my idea into a simple summary, I burst out, "I think I've figured out a way to put multiple, interchangeable enchantments on an item using multiple soul gems, Transfiguration, Runes, applied soul gem harmonic resonance, and active magical pattern manipulation," I bit my lip and gauged their reactions.

Serana looked interested, Drevas' left eyebrow was raised in surprise, and Lydia's eyes had glazed over as soon as I said 'soul gems', but that was hardly surprising.

Drevas 'hmm'ed in thought, then, "Not possible; anyone who's tried to put more than one soul gem into an object, or tried to combine two separate enchantments, found only one thing: trying to do that destroys the object or objects. Not that it's a bad idea," he added, seeing me scowl at the suggestion that something couldn't be done, "but there's no precedent of success to what you're suggesting. Then again, you _do_ have knowledge of a new type of magic, and I'm terrible at enchanting; as such, I recommend the Great Porch at Dragonsreach for any potentially dangerous magical experimentation you wish to engage in so that collateral damage is mitigated; I'm sure Balgruuf won't mind. It _was_ made to hold a dragon, after all," and he nodded, satisfied, before going back to his stew.

My giddiness at my mentor's apparent blessing was curbed by Lydia's worried response, "My Thane, seriously, the _Jarl's palace_? And no offense, Hermione, but you have all of three days, _barely_ , of Enchanting training, and you're already trying to experiment? I may not know much about magic, but that doesn't seem very safe."

"I thought you'd be more pissed that he suggested she do so in the Jarl's palace," Serana put in with a smirk, making Lydia splutter even more, before adding to me, "Do you have all the materials you need for it? Need any help?"

"What she _needs_ , you two, is a responsible adult!"

Amused, I put on a confused expression, "Wait, so you're _not_ responsible adults?" Master Drevas was turning redder by the second, biting his cheek and clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

Serana gave the once again spluttering Lydia a mock offended look, retorting, "I am _so_ responsible! Why, just yesterday morning I helped a foreman cover up a mistake in stone fortifications for the outpost at that new settlement!"

"Do you even know what the settlement is _called_?" Lydia dryly shot back.

"Err…" blinked Serana before turning to Drevas; I shoved a fist in my mouth to stop myself from giggling at the byplay, "What was it again? Floggy Stink or something?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose as Lydia snorted, my mentor visibly collected himself before replying, "It's called _Fjoristead_ , named after the Jarl's favorite female heroine of legend. Seriously, Serana, you're a friggin' _Nord_!"

" _Barely_ ," Lydia muttered around her mug of ale; naturally, that started a verbal battle of wits that I found was fairly common when Drevas was home. At least that's what Lydia said while we cleaned up for the night.

The next morning saw me scribbling out a diagram for the enchantment on parchment: on the stock of the Dwemer crossbow, I'd place two soul gems, both Grand; soul gem One would be divided into three sections, called W, L, and P for the individual effects from the Destruction and Illusion schools I'd place in each section: Winter's Grip (a powerful Frost spell Serana taught me that can disintegrate flesh on touch), Lightning Helix (a Shock- and Fire-based spell that was rapidly becoming a favorite of mine), and Paralyze (for non-lethal takedowns); Runes would provide the medium I'd need to switch between these effects: touch one section and apply a small amount of magic, and the crossbow enchantment's current pattern would switch to that section's pattern. Next was soul gem Two, which was far more difficult to puzzle out, as I planned to set that one as a Reductor Curse; it took me and Serana till nearly midnight the previous night working out the Arithmancy formula (me) and pattern symbology (Serana) before I was satisfied it would work.

On an unrelated note, I was immensely glad Serana was back; the one night she'd been gone, I woke three times from nightmares of snarling teeth and bloody, matted fur in the snow. Maybe it was the fact that I knew I was safe, or that with such warmth nearby my nightmares weren't as bad, but I slept much easier in the ( _much_ ) older woman's arms.

And _no_ , I certainly did _not_ think about that dream I had when I got here, thank you very much!

The biggest problem was as Master Drevas said: placing multiple patterns on an object from multiple sources (soul gems, in this case) would overload the natural pattern of what you're trying to enchant, destroying the item. Luckily for me, Runes provided a way around this issue.

 **. . . . .**

"Wait, back up," the Great Porch was as massive as the main hall of the keep, all dark grey stone; even on the clear night of the 1st of the month, shallow claw marks were still visible in the floor in the pale light of the moons and soft flickering of candles arrayed about us, where Serana and I were currently crouched, an Enchanting circle etched in a large slate between us, "Did you just say you can _turn the enchantments off_?!"

"Well, yeah," said I, "That's part of the initial Rune clusters, see?" I pointed at the crossbow's stock, where I'd just finished carving the runes, an intricate series of runic languages, with temporary runes drawn in chalk around them; there were four blank spaces where the soul gems would be fused to the weapon: a circle divided into thirds just behind the loading lever and a rectangle with rounded edges behind it, closer to the butt of the stock, "The carved runes keep each enchantment pattern stable and allow me to switch between effects, while the chalk runes keep any of them from activating until all four are done."

"How?"

"They'll let the pattern flow through the crossbow for a moment before re-containing it in the gem locus."

Serana nodded thoughtfully, "But will the crossbow survive having its pattern switched around like that?"

I gave her a look, "Why do you think we spent all that time reading about the harmonic resonance of Dwemer metalloids?" Honestly! We had _just_ spent two hours poring over all of Calcelmo of Markarth's writings on the subject just to figure out what that even _was_ , seeing as he never really came out and explained it, and _Gods_ did he need a scribe who knew how to keep an audience entertained! Dry as Elsewyr, those books; worth it, though.

Shrugging, Serana looked to the final, and most important, pieces of our project: the soul gems themselves, "If you say so. You're the genius here."

Blushing, I muttered, "I'm no genius, just a curious mage is all."

One was a Grand soul gem Master Drevas had given me; I didn't ask where he got it, seeing as he left the city that morning and returned just before lunch, humming a tune and tossing the filled gem into my lap carelessly as I went over another of Calcelmo's books.

That one had been transfigured ( _very carefully_ ) into three equal pieces, and were now each sitting inside miniaturized Enchanting circles, having just been individually enchanted by Serana.

The last gem was for the Reductor setting, and my responsibility. Still, looking at the softly glowing black gem gave me the shivers, despite knowing better.

When Serana had produced the ( _highly illegal_ ) soul gem back at Breezehome, I nearly had a panic attack, nightmarish visions of necromancy and blood rituals spinning through my head; my vampiric roommate managed to calm me down, though, and explained something that wasn't really known outside of two walks of life: Master-level Enchanting, and Greater Necromancy.

Soul-Trap _doesn't_.

The explanation I had went into great detail, mainly due to anxious questions on my part, but it's basically like this: the consciousness of all living things is, at its base, the essence of the soul; while it is tied to the magic, or life-force if you want to be specific, of the living being it inhabits, the two are as different as night and day. The upshot is that when you use Soul-Trap, you're trapping the energies of a being's life (or, in the case of the Draugr, unlife) inside the gem, while the conscious soul goes somewhere else. In the case of animals, it's generally assumed that the soul goes to Aetherius and gets recycled back into nature, or Oblivion, if you happen to Soul-Trap a daedric creature.

In the case of people, Serana wouldn't say anything beyond, "Black soul gems don't follow the same rules as White soul gems, just like the souls themselves behave differently; as Black gems were developed by necromancers ages ago, the answer to where Black souls go when they're trapped is steeped in Greater Necromancy. In short: _don't ask_."

As to where the gem I was to use came from, Serana explained that it was the energies of one of her father's minions that attacked her and Drevas near Dragon Bridge; still feeling kind of disgusted at using something like this, I couldn't bring myself to feel too bad. The idiot attacked my mentor and friend, so whatever fate awaited them was wholly deserved in my book.

One by one, starting with the powerful frost spell and ending with the Reductor curse, I used my wand to Transfigure each pre-enchanted soul gem to their Runic mounts; each time I did, a loud hum emitted from the crossbow, along with a light tone, like the tinny ring of a bell; the pattern for each spell also became visible on the weapon's surface for a moment before the chalk runes re-contained them in the gem foci. The enchanting circle shone with magic as I felt my own magic thrum in time with the circle's pulses, my will and power fueling a ritual as old as the stones surrounding us.

Once done, each of the fragments glowed softly with their own unique, inner light: the frost fragment looked like fresh snow in the sun; the two-way elemental spell glimmered with a gold, sparkly light; the Paralyze fragment had a soft green glow to it. The Reductor curse fragment looked _weird_ , though: the spell was silver, while Black soul gems are purple, dark brown and black; the fragment, however, had _somehow_ turned an angry red-orange; I dismissed the observation, because if it worked…

I grinned hugely, feeling happy in spite of the feeling of exhaustion at using so much of my magic in one sitting, thinking, ' _I'd like to see a troll shrug off one of my bolts now!_ '

Serana's toothy grin nearly mirrored mine, " _Wow_ , Hermione! And you say you're not a genius; I seriously doubt anyone else in Skyrim could have pulled this off!"

Blushing, I replied pointedly, "Well, I _did_ have a lot of help, you know," we smiled at each other for a moment, before I collected the crossbow, setting the lever and pulling a bolt from the quiver on my hip, "Now, for the final test…"

For this part, we'd…ah, appropriated a couple empty mead casks from the Dragonsreach kitchens; I'm sure the Jarl and his servants wouldn't miss them, and it's not like we snuck in or anything! Lydia told Irileth we'd be using the Porch for a delicate experiment and to inform the guards not to investigate any odd sounds or explosions.

We had totally legitimate reasons for not telling Farengar about this, honest!

Tapping a finger to the Frost…you know what? I'm going to call them buttons, mainly because that's what they _are_ once you get right down to it. I tapped the Frost button with a finger, running a little magic into the gem; it shone a little brighter while the others dimmed, the crossbow becoming cooler to the touch as the enchantment was loosed into the weapon.

"Here goes…" I lined up my shot with the first of four barrels, arranged in a line near the Porch's balcony.

 _Chack! FWUMP!_

"…"

"…"

"Bloody buggering _fuck_ ," swore Serana in disbelief.

"Language," I weakly chided, not really disagreeing.

The bolt had apparently disintegrated on impact, taking a circular chunk of the barrel ten-inches in diameter with it; the edges of the hole had been flash-frozen into an ashy material, sparkling as it slowly crumbled. Further away from the blasted edge, the brown wood of the barrel was blackened; from the look of how the planks had splintered in places, it gave the appearance of how frostbite affected flesh. It was…unnerving, that I could make something like this with only _four days_ of learning.

Then again…a Centurion exploded in my mind's eye; I was capable of _far_ worse with my wand.

"Well," I finally said, "That's one setting that works. Now, for the moment of truth…" and I tentatively pressed the Lightning Helix button.

The button with Winter's Grip in it dimmed, the gold of the Helix enchantment flaring; as that happened, I felt the coolness of the crossbow abate, a feeling of prickly warmth replacing it.

"It works!" I crowed happily, Serana clapping her hands together in excitement; wasting no time, I loaded the bow and aimed at the second barrel.

 _Chack! BZZCK!_

A flaming piece of wooden shrapnel flew off the porch's balcony into the quiet night. The top half of the barrel was gone, having been burnt away by fires hot as Oblivion being conducted by true lightning; the rest was a smoldering ruin, blackened, jagged edges of the boards burning lightly from the spells release.

I whistled, "Holy _shite_ ," Serana popped me lightly upside the head.

"While that was _really_ impressive, watch your language, young lady."

We glared at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles at each other's ridiculousness; it wasn't like there was anyone around to offend!

"Right, I think a field test would be better for the Paralyze function, seeing as that spell only works on living things," mused I while Serana nodded sagely.

"Not to mention it's not as fun as blowing things up," I nodded empathically at Serana's wise observation.

"In that case," I paused; this was _real_ uncharted territory, now: a spell that didn't originate in Tamriel, or Nirn for that matter, being subjected to spell principles from what was, apparently, another plane of existence. I was truly nervous as I loaded the crossbow one last time, "Please, _please_ , don't blow up in my hands…"

Serana placed her warm hands on my shoulders, rubbing them and speaking encouragement to set my mind at ease, "Don't doubt yourself, hun; you're no average hedge-witch, and I'm no slouch myself. It _will_ work. Just breathe, 'Mione."

Even as I took a calming breath, that nickname, _'Mione_ …it was…familiar, ' _No. I'll dwell on my missing memories later._ ' "Okay. Let's do this," I pressed the burnt orange button…

In the wake of the Helix enchantment, a _sharp_ feeling flowed through my weapon, like I was now gently holding a handful of dull knives where my hands touched the crossbow; I nearly dropped the bow in surprise.

"What's wrong?"

"Feels… _weird_. Here, touch it," I offered my partner in experimentation.

Serana gently laid a hand next to where my left hand held the bow steady, drawing away after a moment with a worried expression, "Yeah, that's _weird_ ," she looked thoughtful for a moment while I chewed my lip, wondering if I should even fire on this setting; but she brightened suddenly, stating, "Although, when you consider what your Reductor curse _does_ …"

Oh! I nodded, "Yeah, I _suppose_ that makes sense…Well," I shrugged, "No time like the present!" Ready, aim…fire.

 _Chack! **BLAM!**_

Serana and I ducked out of instinct, despite the fact that no shrapnel came flying at us; the _entire barrel_ , four and a half feet tall by three wide, was blasted apart in a silver flash of light, shards of wood and shattered iron flying off the porch into the dark and scattering in a semicircle away from us. The barrel to the destroyed target's right now had a crack running the length of one board, one of the iron bands holding the thing together blown right open; by flying debris or a result of the spell, I was never able to find out.

" _Nine,_ " Serana breathed in awe, "If that had been a person-hells, if that had been a _dragon_ …!"

I looked back and forth between the ruined target (that scorch mark on the floor would need to be cleaned before we left) and my roommate, "A _dragon_ would fall to this?!" Serana looked at me and nodded, eyes wide with a smile slowly creeping onto her face; I felt one of my own developing as I spoke what I'd been thinking since this project had begun.

"Farengar's gonna be _so_ jealous!"

Our good mood buoyed us both all the way back to Breezehome, where I fell into exhausted sleep on my roommate's chest, a contented grin on my face as I snuggled into her; I couldn't wait to see the look on that gobshite's face when I fronted up with a true Masterwork in my hands!

 **. . . . .  
Early Afternoon, 2nd Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Whiterun City, Dragonsreach  
. . . . .**

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'I HAVE TO DESTORY IT'?!"

"As I _just said,_ you _little hellion_ : you used _unknown_ magics to enchant this crossbow," the _bloody epic piss-brained gobshite_ who went by Farengar Secret-Fire growled, jabbing a finger at said bow and scowling disapprovingly as I leveled a withering glare that would make even Mehrunes Dagon flinch at him, "And _therefore_ , I have to undo the enchantments to figure out just how you did it," and the _arrogant fucker_ nodded with superiority, reaching out to take my bow. Yeah, **fuck that**.

I snatched it away from his greasy mitts, seething in rage, "Have you _any **idea**_ what I had to do to make this work?! I practically had to _rewrite the way magical patterns function_ just to make sure these enchantments would take, spent _two bloody hours_ puzzling out how the harmonic resonance of the Dwemer metals would react to the _extremely complex_ Runic arrays involved, and **you** ," oh, I was _pissed_ , hence the venom that made the _arsehole_ mage before me jerk in indignant shock, "want to _DESTROY IT_?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR PISS-BRAINED MIND?!"

"Now see here, you little barbarian!" **WHAT?!** " _I'm_ the one who taught you enchanting in the first place! As such, it's only fair you share the knowledge-"

"No, _you_ see here, you…you up-yourself _s'wit of a_ _gobshite_ ," call _me_ a barbarian, will he? "You taught nothing I couldn't have found out by cracking open a book. _You_ didn't teach me even a _single spell_ ; I had to learn the spells I put in this bow from Serana; you know, the _vampire_ I live with?" Oh, he looked _real_ pissed off now; I went for the kill, "So don't try to take credit for other's work just because you're a _talentless hedge-wizard!_ "

That apparently was too far, seeing as he loosed a fork of lightning at me; he probably thought I wouldn't do the smart thing and dodge. Which I did; wandless magic has a few tells, as I learned from watching Serana demonstrate them by way of teaching me, and Lydia taught me to watch a person's eyes, shoulders and hips to find out what their next move would be.

A few moments of wand-work later, I collected my bag and crossbow and was about to storm out when Jarl Balgruuf appeared at the doorway, a disgruntled look on his face, "I heard shouting. What's going on in here?"

Fighting down my anger, I replied as politely as I could, "Just a professional disagreement between mages, my Jarl. Nothing for you to worry yourself with. In a related note, I'll be taking my magical training elsewhere for the foreseeable future."

"And just where is my court wizard, Ms. Hermione?" the Jarl asked, folding his arms and regarding me sternly.

I pointed at the desk, where a brass chamber pot now rested with the words 'I AM A GOBSHITE' written in black ink on the side, "The spell should wear off in about ten minutes; when it does, please remind the dumbass that Thane Drevas is my master, and your Thane would be _most displeased_ to find your court wizard tried to assault me with spells."

Balgruuf looked between me and the chamber pot for a moment before asking, "He's…He's still alive, right?" At my nod, his gaze softened, "My apologies for any offense he offered you, young miss; I'll have a chat with him, make sure he understands his place in Whiterun's hierarchy. Why don't you go down to the Temple, see if Sister Danica is willing to part with a spell or two? I heard you get along well with her apprentice, and it's well known she could use a bit of help."

I felt my frustration abate a bit at his kind suggestion, nodding, "I may just do that, my Jarl. Good day," curtseying slightly, I scurried off to find Lucia. She should be sweeping the Temple steps around now…

 **. . . . .**

I noticed the tension as soon as I stepped through the door to Breezehome an hour later, fresh from the Temple and a crash course in healing light wounds from Sister Danica.

Master Drevas was sitting at the kitchen table, fingers laced under his chin and staring off into space with a grim expression, while Lydia leaned against the stairs, a letter in her hands. She glanced at me and gave a nod of greeting, her mouth a thin line, before looking back to her Thane.

Closing the door quietly, I approached them, "Um…is something wrong, Master?"

Blinking, my mentor's eyes rested on me for a moment before replying in a stony voice, "Three people were just killed in Morthal. A band of draugr came out of the north and attacked the town just as the tavern was letting out for the night."

I gasped; draugr were just as bad as Falmer! Or, so I'd read, "That's horrible! Were the guards able to drive them off?"

"Hmm," he nodded; I sighed, but he went on, "The Jarl's elder daughter was injured in the attack, and the Hold's Thane was killed; that letter," he pointed at the one Lydia was holding, "is a missive from Jarl Ravencrone, asking Jarl Balgruuf for any aid he can provide."

Tilting my head, I asked, "So why do you have it?"

Master Drevas' eyes locked on mine, "Because it arrived at Dragonsreach shortly after I got there to listen to Balgruuf's tale of how you turned his court wizard into a chamber pot."

Oh. Crap. Chuckling nervously, I replied, "You, uh, heard about that, huh?"

"I heard he tried to destroy the crossbow I gave you, and when you verbally laid into him, he attacked you. Is that what happened?" I nodded, scowling at the memory; he sighed, then addressed Lydia, "Use the good parchment to respond, but inform Jarl Idgrod I'll be sending a representative along with a Priestess to deal with the injuries. And for the love of the _Gods_ , Lydia-"

"-Don't use all your titles, _I know_ , my Thane," Lydia replied lightly, "I learned my lesson, after that whole kerfuffle in Markarth," and she turned to her desk, placed against the wall across from the bookcase.

Drevas, on the other hand, rose and made for the door, beckoning me in a weary voice, "Follow me," I did so, wondering if I was going to be punished.

Breezehome had two yards: one on the side of the house that was mostly used for sparring, and a fenced garden behind the house; the garden was mainly for Drevas' use, but I found it was a perfect spot for reading or meditation, with a small pond and the pleasant scents of blooming flowers. It was to this garden that Master Drevas led me.

That day, the 2nd of Rain's Hand, was overcast with the promise of the first rains of spring, a rumble of thunder in the south beyond the mountains heralding the coming storms; it was almost prophetic, given what came after.

Plucking a pair of training weapons from a rack next to the house, he tossed me a wooden axe, keeping a longsword of the same material for himself; I felt a chill run down my spine as he made a few practice swings with his weapon before he casually said, "Time to see if Lydia's taught you anything. No magic or Shouts. Defend yourself," and thrust the wooden blade at me!

I swatted the thrust aside, training and instincts kicking in as I swung my axe back at him with a horizontal strike; he blocked easily, and I disengaged before he could shove my axe away and stagger me, circling around to his left, looking for an opening. He gave me none, swinging, thrusting and chopping his blade at me in a relentless barrage of blows; it was all I could do to keep blocking as he backed me toward the wall of the house, his red eyes utterly focused on my smaller form.

Before he could bail me up I managed to knock his blade high and dove to my left, rolling and hopping up to the balls of my feet in a ready stance; panting with the exertion, I watched him as he tried to circle around me again, keeping his blade pointed at me; ' _Two can play at this game_ ,' I thought, darting at him and swinging the flat blade of my axe into his sword. We were evenly matched for a few moments, until he feinted a block and twisted his blade around one of my strikes; I'd overextended, I realized, eyes widening as the edge of his blade came whistling at my face as I fell forward!

Reacting wholly on instinct, I ducked my head, his wooden longsword rustling the hair on the back of my head as it passed; falling on the ground, I swung my axe up as a stinging blow smacked off my left ribs.

"You're dead," Master Drevas deadpanned, not even breathing hard; clenching my teeth because that hit _definitely_ bruised, I grinned.

"So are you," was my growled retort; his eyebrows rose in shock before looking down: my axe's blade rested just behind his left knee.

Judging by the frown on his face, I thought for a moment I'd done something wrong. Then he laughed.

"Not bad lass," Master Drevas chuckled, tossing his training sword aside and helping me to my feet, "You wouldn't last in a real fight, but I'm glad you picked up the basics this quickly."

I smiled at the praise, before frowning slightly, "So…You're not mad about what I did to Farengar?"

Chuckling again, he replied, "Of course not. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't hear me or Jarl Balgruuf tearing the arse a new one for attacking you; in the grand scheme of things," he explained, "Farengar is held to a higher standard than you, being the court wizard and all, but that also means he has to comport himself appropriately in front of pretty much everyone. By attacking you, he crossed me, and insulted the Jarl by breaking guest right."

Oh shite! According to the custom of the land, that meant he could be executed! He was an arsehole, but, "I-I didn't realize it was such a big deal, master; and anyway, it _was_ kind of my fault for provoking him!"

"Peace, Hermione," Drevas held up a hand, "Given Farengar's talents, he's not easily replaceable, so he won't be executed. On the other hand, once I was done describing what would happen if he ever attacked you again, Balgruuf verbally laid into him with all the fury of a vengeful Dremora; word from the wise, lass: **_never_** piss off Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. Personally, I'd rather fight a dragon!"

I laughed in relief, "Yeah, I got that from when he spoke to me," my mentor smiled at me before looking over at the pond; silence filled the garden, broken by the muffled sounds of Warmadien's smithy and the occasional rumble in the south. "You're leaving, aren't you?" I asked in a small voice.

Drevas nodded, turning back to look at me with a neutral expression, "Serana and I will leave tonight, taking the road to Dragon's Bridge through The Reach; we're going to try and find clues as to where her mother went in Castle Volkihar's less oft-used sections."

"And I can't go," I stated; I certainly did _not_ pout, no matter what Master Drevas says!

He nodded, "No, you most certainly can't; especially not since I have something else for you to do," I perked up a bit; maybe he wanted me to enchant something awesome for his use, or Serana's? "Jarl Ravencrone asked for me, specifically, though she only knows me by reputation."

"Well," said I, thinking of the troll on the mountain, "You certainly inspire confidence, master."

Drevas rolled his eyes, "Eh, I'm just good at hitting things, lass. Anyway, seeing as this vampire problem takes precedence due to its time-sensitive nature, I'm sending you to find out where these draugr are coming from and put them down."

Wha-wha-what? "You're…sending _me_?" At his nod, I added, for clarification, "Alone?"

"Wh- _no!_ Only a madman would- _wipe that smirk off your face this_ instant _, young lady_ -I'm not about to send a bloody teenager with all of a week's combat training against what's likely a barrow full of draugr, alone; on the other hand, I also don't _really_ have the power to send a platoon of guards with you, and the Hold's forces are stretched thin as is," he then reached into a trouser pocket and tossed me two heavy coin purses, "Use one of those for hiring some muscle; the other is your allowance."

A second of thought was all it took before I asked incredulously, "Mercenaries? You want me to hire mercenaries?" Weren't those only a little better than bandits?

But Master Drevas grinned, saying, "Not just _any_ mercenaries. But that's something you'll have to deal with tomorrow; there are two more things I have for you. The first is a set of proper armor I had commissioned for you when we got here, which is up in your room."

Finally! I was getting sick of that leather gear anyway, "What kind is it? Does it have any enchantments yet? Oh, and I'm running out of bolts-"

"It's Skyforge-crafted Masterwork ebony-infused malachite, made by Eorlund Grey-Mane himself, and it's not enchanted yet," he grinned at my happy squeal before continuing, "As for the bolts, I left you two gross Dwemer-metal tipped bolts, in four quivers of 72, on the chest containing your armor."

I was floored; that was professional grade gear! "You really want me making a good impression, huh?" He nodded, but this time, he kept his eyes on mine, "What…what was the second thing?"

"Give me your axe," I complied, as his tone implied that he wasn't suggesting the action.

He held it for a moment, examining the edges and testing the weight. Then he regarded me with a searching expression; his red eyes seemed to almost look past me, seeing something only he could see. I said nothing, waiting not a little impatiently; that armor was calling my name! _Hermione_ , it called, _come enchant me, for the love of the Gods!_

When he spoke, it was less Master Drevas, and more the Dragonborn, that I heard; I'd always remember what he said that cloudy afternoon, "While I've never taken on an apprentice, I was once in your place, Hermione Granger; I know what it's like to not know what tomorrow will bring, but I've always endured, always sought to better myself. First, I was a street rat, thieving to survive; I became a locksmith's apprentice when I was a couple years younger than you are now; when I was sixteen, I went to Vvardenfell on my first adventure, where I encountered wonders and horrors that set the foundations for who I am today; over the years hence, I've been many things: an explorer in Elsewyr, a caravan driver in Valenwood, a mercenary in Cyrodiil…a husband and town guard in Hammerfell, and now, in Skyrim, I'm a Thane, the Dragonborn of legend, Ysmir, the Dragon of the North; I've adventured from one end of Tamriel to another, I've faced down liches in their lairs and daedra in far-flung wastelands, I've slain necromancer lords before they could terrorize the populace and assassinated local lords when they became corrupt. Through all of it, all the glory and shame I've had throughout my life, one thing hasn't changed: I've _never_ broken the oath I swore to Glimmer-Void, the Nerevarine, as she lay dying in some nameless hole on that accursed, ash-filled island, the same oath she swore to her father, a Knight who taught her everything he knew, as I plan to do for you."

I realized, then, that I'd been learning from both Drevas and those around him without actually _being_ a sworn apprentice; Lucia had told me she had to swear an oath herself when she became an Aspirant of Kyne, but was this the same thing? I dismissed the thought almost as it came. This was, if anything, the most important thing, not only to Master Drevas, as it would mark me as his heir, but to _me_. "What do I need to do?" I asked quietly, confident I could do whatever he asked.

"Firstly," he began, eyes softening, "Breath, and Focus; Sky Above, Voice Within; Speak only in True Need. That is the Way of the Voice, passed down through the Greybeards for thousands of years; and you have the Voice, and feel its use, and learn new Words in the same way I do; you are _Dovahkiin_ , through my blood," my eyes widened, at once wanting to deny it and excited at the prospect of such power, but my mentor went on, "All of us who Speak are named by their mentors, and so I give you a name: you are Gefjun, the Dragon of Far-Sight. Hearken to it," then he let out a breath, shaking his head, smiling, and muttering, "bloody flowery Nordic traditions…" I laughed a little with him, but then all was serious again.

"Now, for _my_ oath. Kneel." I did so, imagining knighting ceremonies in grand castles, my axe laying my shoulder as he spoke the commands that would shape my future; but there was none of that. Instead, he spoke in a solemn tone, eyes red like fire locked on my wide golden browns, in a dinky garden beneath a steel-grey sky, "Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Be brave and upright in the eyes of the Gods. Speak the truth, _always_ , even if it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless. Do no wrong. That is your oath*, as my apprentice and heir," and he held out the ebony axe, lengthwise, for me to take; I did, taking the haft with both hands, accepting the oath with a pounding heart.

Then his hand snapped out, nicking my left earlobe; I hissed in pain, hand flying to it. It came away red. I looked up at Master Drevas, to see his hand running over the chunk missing from the tip of his left ear, a faraway smile touching his lips.

"And _that_ , is so you _never forget it_."

 **. . . . .**

The armor was beautiful.

Plates of ebony-infused malachite had been carved to resemble folded wings complete with feathers, attached to a fine chainmail coat; beneath the mail was a layer of thin scales, also green glass, all backed with leather, with velvet lining the interior of the armor. Just looking at it in the case, I knew it would complement my figure nicely, not to mention it was far and away better protection than the leather and steel kit I'd been running with since Blackreach.

Serana, looking over my shoulder, thought so too, " _Nice_. Not every day you see a masterwork like this; I think you'll pull it off nicely, too," she finished as I looked up at her, a fanged grin on her face.

Grinning myself, I picked up a gauntlet and slid it onto my right hand; it fit well, "At least until I grow up, anyway."

"Pssh, don't worry about that; I'm sure Master Eorlund will make alterations on request," and Serana turned to her own trunk, removing a gleaming white-gold kit.

As I watched her, dithering; this…woman, she'd become my rock, someone who I could count on to listen to whatever was troubling me, was there for me when I woke gasping in the night. I…liked her, _a lot_ , and that confused me to no end, especially when compared to my lingering feelings for Harry.

All the same, I quietly spoke the truth, "I…I don't want you to go, you know?"

Nodding, she replied as she tightened the strap on a boot, "A part of me doesn't want to go, either; I'd rather stay and make sure you're safe. But," she leveled a sober look at me, "sometimes, we do what we must, because our duty gives us no choice in the matter."

I nodded back, thinking of my task, "I'll miss you."

She stepped forward, smiling sadly and wrapping her arms lovingly around me as I buried my face into her chest, "And I, you. But I'll be back soon. Promise."

I nodded into the older woman's breasts, breathing deeply to memorize her scent; she'd be back. She promised.

And I had faith.

 **. . . . .  
Midmorning, 3rd Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Whiterun City, Jorrvaskr Mead Hall  
. . . . .**

Farkas was _bored_.

Ever since the bandit crackdown, there'd been a…what the hells did Vilkas call it? Death? Ditch? Dearth? Yeah, there'd been a dearth of good jobs coming the Companion's way. Stupid Vilkas and his flowery words.

Sure, there were still the minor jobs, like hunting for the tavern and escorting supplies to Fjoristead, but there were no bandits what needed pummeling, the beasts of the wild were keeping clear for fear of Thane Drevas' clannfear (which Farkas _completely_ understood, having taken part in the crackdown and seen firsthand what that thing was capable of), and the fucking Silver Hand (spit) had contracted themselves out as guards in various Holds against the bloodsuckers that Whiterun's Thane was actually doing something about. Fucking chislers.

So, yeah, Farkas, who was currently leaning against a support beam and nursing a mug of light mead (he was thinking about sparring with some of the pups later, keep them fresh, just in case, and it was too early to get drunk besides), half-listening to Vilkas and Aela arguing with Skjor about…damn, what were they on about this time-oh. The stupid fucking civil war.

Farkas didn't get it, himself; what was the issue, really? Sure, the Gods-damned Thalmor were giant fuck-wads, but it's not like the Empire had much of a choice; he didn't like the treaty, _hells_ , no right-thinking Nord did, but the Empire didn't go and off the High King with the Voice.

Fucking Stormcloak-Manchild, throwing a fit over something that would no doubt get taken care of in time; or wasn't the arrogant fuck a Nord? They were patient. They weathered the storm. They struck like lightning. Arsehole probably never took Talos' teachings to heart, the utter wanker.

Also, it _really_ got on Farkas' nerves that the girl he'd been sweet on went and joined the arse-clown's little militia, only to get herself killed in that mess up in The Pale. He needed another drink.

At twenty-two, Farkas didn't know much, but he knew he liked hitting things; and right now, as he poured himself another mug while the argument across the table got a little more heated and Kodlak frowned disapprovingly at him, he found he _really, **really**_ , wanted to kill something. His inner Wolf growled in agreement; it had been too long since either of them had a real challenge.

As if Shor himself had heard his prayers, the door to Jorrvaskr swung open.

Farkas glanced up, hoping to see some noble with a fat coin purse and an axe to grind, but expecting a messenger from Balgruuf sent to collect Vilkas for something requiring flowery bullshit.

He ended up doing a double-take. Kodlak, who'd turned in his seat, stiffened in surprise. The pointless argument died a quick, painless death across the table.

The only thought that went through the hulking Werewolf's mind was, ' _Isn't that the lass Heimskr was annoying a few days ago?_ '

It was what she was wearing that gave him pause: forest-green malachite trimmed in gleaming ebony covered her body in plates, scales and mail-rings, giving the image of a griffin of legend…or a dragon, seeing as the armor, looked at one way, looked like dragonscales; in another way, feathers. Over her heart was a black badge set into the armor in the form of a disk of ebony with a red lion head tilted skyward; his slightly buzzed mind told him it was Thane Drevas' mark, though he couldn't remember how he knew that. She filled out the armor nicely, from the slim cuirass to the hook-spurred boots to the clawed gauntlets, and it all glowed with protective magic. The helm she was wearing had two 'wings' pointing backwards, with a smooth scalp in between, and the brow had been fashioned like a snarling griffin. It was, in Farkas' professional opinion, _fuckin weird_ for a kid to be wearing what was clearly a _Gods-damned Masterwork_.

To say nothing of the fact she was practically armed to the teeth: boot knife, an ebony axe (also enchanted, if that white shine was anything to go by) on her right hip, a weird Dwarven box hanging from her belt on the left, a quiver with purple fletched bolts just above her bum going nicely with the heavy-looking Dwarven crossbow on her back. It looked like she was going off to war, in Farkas' eyes.

But her eyes…She swept those cold, brown eyes over the Inner Circle before removing her helm, revealing brutally short hair with a few bangs partly covering some scarring next to those chilly eyes; those were the eyes of experience, of someone who'd seen death and glared it down, Farkas thought. He set his mug down, deciding that whatever her reason for coming before them, it was _way_ better than getting slowly drunk and abusing the younger pups.

As if reading his mind, the Harbinger cleared his throat and spoke up, "Can we help you, miss…?"

"Hermione, at your service, Harbinger," the newly named lass, Hermione, introduced warmly, "And I certainly hope so; my master, Thane Drevas, spoke highly of you and the group you run with, Kodlak Whitemane."

Some of the tension bled out as Kodlak smiled, "Well met, Hermione. I do hope you're not here to turn any of my Companions into chamber pots for some offense," he chuckled while Farkas thought, ' _Wait…what?!_ '

The young woman laughed, "Oh no, Farengar deserved what he got; no, I'm actually here to hire one of your Companions."

"For?" the Harbinger's tone was suddenly all business, the rest of the Circle listening attentively.

"I find myself in need of an experienced bodyguard," Farkas felt Aela's eyes on the side of his head, but he didn't care; he wasn't a babysitter, "Preferably one who isn't afraid of and has no problem killing things like draugr, trolls, bears, Forsworn, bandits-" okay, so maybe he was.

"Dibs," Farkas growled, causing everyone, including the buck-toothed knight, to look at him in surprise; not that he cared, grabbing his Skyforge steel greatsword from where he'd propped it against the table and slinging into its harness, "Where're we goin'?"

She blinked before responding in an even tone, "Hjaalmarch. I'll be travelling with a Priestess of Kyne, who's going to provide healing to the people there; draugr attacked the hold capital two days ago, killing their Thane and wounding Jarl Ravencrone's daughter before being driven off. Master Drevas has tasked me with dealing with the situation."

"Aren't you a bit young to be messing with draugr?" was Aela's intelligent observation; Farkas had to admit, despite the armor and weapons, the lass didn't look so tough.

Then her eyes hardened into steel, flicking over to meet the Huntress', who stiffened, "I _doubt_ the draugr care what age the person who offs them is, ma'am." But Farkas had been wrong before…

Kodlak chuckled and spoke in a calm voice, "Yes, old Drevas said you had a fire in you. Back off Aela, she's tough enough; though, I assume you have payment?" Farkas checked his armor's straps as his client, ' _Hermione. Mouthful. Looks like an armored squirrel, honestly_ ,' took out a large coinpurse and tossed it to Kodlak, who turned and dumped it on the table-

Revealing _forty bloody Septims_. Through his shocked haze at so much for a simple bodyguard mission, she stated, "Twenty for the mission, another twenty for the Companions of Ysgramor. Is that good?"

It was Vilkas who asked, "Expecting a lot of trouble? I mean, it's just draugr; Farkas can handle them easily," the tall Nord in question grunted, not really getting what was going-

"I'm Thane Drevas' apprentice," the young woman said with a small smile, "Nothing is ever easy with him, and those marshes hide all kinds of horrors."

Well, Farkas mused, when she put it that way, "Alright. We leaving now?" Skjor's eye was looking between them, but Farkas didn't care; _anything_ was better than sitting around here all day.

Hermione nodded, "I've just got to get the Priestess, and we'll be going. I'll meet you at the gate, err…What should I call you?"

"Farkas." He grunted. The girl nodded, first at him, then at the other Companions, then walked back out the door.

"Odd girl," Skjor observed, before turning to Kodlak, "I should go with them, Harbinger; no offense, Farkas, but you're not exactly the most diplomatic of us."

"She didn't ask for diplomacy, Skjor, she asked for a _fighter_ ," said Kodlak, placing twenty Septims in a smaller coinpurse and tossing them to Farkas, "Which Farkas is. Now, get out of here lad, and do us proud."

Farkas didn't need to be told twice; however when he got to the door, Kodlak called out to him.

"One more thing, Farkas: Drevas, as you know, is an old friend of mine; the last time we spoke, he seemed to be very proud of that young lady, and mentioned she might come to us for help or guidance," Kodlak's ice grey eyes met Farkas' own, making the younger Wolf feel like a whelp again, "I'll tell you the same thing he told me: if that girl is killed or worse while under our watch, Drevas of Mournhold will _end Hircine's curse_." The Harbinger's tone left no doubt to the meaning of the threat.

Farkas gulped. He _really_ didn't want to fight Drevas. Ever. That mace was _terrifying_ , "Got it boss. I'll do my best."

As he walked down the stone steps of Jorrvaskr, the young man wondered, for the first (and hardly the last) time what the _sixteen hells_ he'd gotten himself into.

 **. . . . .  
Late Morning, 5th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Jarl's Longhouse, Town of Morthal  
. . . . .**

' _Pulse is better today, and the scarring is less purple; breathing easier. Estimate 2 days to full recovery_ ,' Lucia wrote in her healer's journal next to Jarl Ravencrone's daughter, Idgrod the Younger, who was lain out in her bed, sleeping peacefully. Blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, her thoughts turned to her companions, Hermione and Farkas, who had gone into the marshes yesterday morning and hadn't returned.

The day-long journey to Morthal had been uneventful, punctuated only by a suicidal bear trying to jump them as they made the pass between Whiterun and Hjaalmarch; Lucia was no stranger to death, having seen bandit executions during the crackdown, so the way Hermione had paralyzed the beast while Farkas ended it with a swift stab had been only mildly interesting.

On arriving, Hermione and Farkas had been shunted into a private room for a meeting with the Jarl while Lucia herself was shown to the princess' room.

It hadn't been pretty: she'd been slashed across her right shoulder and collarbone, and while it wasn't a deep wound, there was a disturbing blue-purple discoloration around the cut. Luckily, Lucia was trained and prepared to deal with all sorts of poisons; she'd quickly identified it as a mixture of deathbell and imp stool with a slaughterfish egg tossed in. Brutal and deadly, a simple healing spell or potion wouldn't do; once Lucia had drawn the lingering poison out with the appropriate spell, things had been simpler. The young woman would live, and likely wouldn't have any complications so long as she stayed healthy and got plenty of exercise. Maybe Hermione could give her some pointers on staying fit.

As for the draugr, Hermione told her (because Farkas didn't really talk much, but the big guy was probably just shy, Lucia figured) that the Jarl's scouts had found a likely source: Folgunthur, a barrow deep in the marshes and southeast of Solitude. According to them, and a report from the East Empire Company Docks, a Dark Elf wizard led some mercenaries into the marshes three weeks ago. No one had heard from them since, until the scouts found the remains of their camp next to the barrow, along with a half dozen draugr. Apparently, the idiot elf had opened the barrow expecting minimal resistance, and hadn't bothered to inform Jarl Ravencrone in case they needed reinforcements.

Lucia had to agree with Hermione's observation: unless you're Thane Drevas or someone equally skilled, stay away from unopened barrows.

But now her best friend was out there, off to purge the draugr from the barrow with only a Companion for company; Lucia glanced at the door of the Longhouse, praying to every Divine (even Talos) to see Hermione safely back.

If there was one thing Lucia feared more than anything, it was being alone again.

 **. . . . .  
Folgunthur Crypt  
. . . . .**

From what I'd read, the draugr weren't _actually_ undead, at least by the classical definition.

When the barrows were originally made, an enchantment involving the blood sacrifice of a number of innocents would be tied to the Lord of the crypt, binding the magics of the land to its mortal remains and creating something like a proxy soul; this was to give the liege Lord abilities and strength that matched or exceeded what they held in life. But the Ancient Nords didn't stop there.

When the Lord was interred, many of their servants would remain, still living, in the barrow; it was their duty to not only protect the place from looters, but to offer up their life force through (what is assumed to be) a passive ritual to the dead Lord. Through this process, the Lord of the barrow could send out commands to its followers; what happened in Morthal was a, albeit extreme, example of what kind of power these Lords held.

Over time, the servants would need to lie in stasis to preserve their strength so they could perform their duties, like changing out the candles, re-applying preservatives to their brothers and sisters, or dusting the sarcophagi of the Lord's honor guard. Thus, the draugr were born: the desiccated remains of those guards and servants, animated by the same enchantment which gives the Lord its power.

Unlike the Falmer, they have no desire to capture intruders, and will attack any trespassers with _extreme prejudice_.

" **Kriivah niin!** " commanded the draugr Lord to his soldiers, the last of his host; arrayed in his burial chamber, they loosed arrows and spells at Farkas, Scales and I as we ducked back into cover on either side of the double doors.

"Bloody _hells_ , girl! That's a fucking _Deathlord_!" Farkas swore angrily, another arrow hissing just past where he hid against the doorframe to the crypt.

I loaded another bolt, cursing myself for the fourth time for not bringing more, before answering him just as furiously, "The _fuck_ is your point?! It'll die just like the others!" An ice spike zipped past me to crash against the opposite wall.

"Clearly you've never faced one! They can use the _Thu'um_ and won't stop fighting till they're torn apart!"

"I stand by my previous statement!" A brown-black mottled Scales chittered in eager agreement.

Finding the barrow was easy enough: just follow the random pickets of draugr. Having Scales along for the journey made things much easier; usually the walking dead moved in groups of two or three, and their weapons weren't much chop against the clannfear alpha's armor, so Scales just snuck up and ripped them apart on sight.

At least there was an abandoned campsite where the _s'wit_ who'd opened the barrow had set up shop, so we were able to catch a few winks before plumbing the ruin itself. Not only that, but the idiot left one of his journals next to his bedroll; I'll leave his name out, as the names of the stupid shouldn't be recorded unless they do something truly _epic_ , but the Dunmer had clearly done his research before heading to his death.

"How do you know he's dead?" Farkas had gruffly asked after I made my observations.

"All these draugr roaming about, you think the _s'wit_ is still alive?" replied I from around a mouthful of breaded chicken with a raised eyebrow. Farkas just gave a non-committal grunt of assent before turning back to the venison stew he was cooking. Grunting seemed to be his preferred method of communication, and I was determined to learn this mysterious language _post-haste_.

Anyway, we went into the barrow, and I finally had a chance to field-test _Stormbringer_ , which was the name I'd christened my crossbow with; long story short, it was _most effective_ against all types of draugr, mostly taking them down with one hit in a burst of cold, fiery lightning, or bursts of magic. The paralyze function worked great as well, making for some _very_ comical kills; the one where the draugr fell onto a trap which swung a spiked wall into it, sending the walking corpse flying into one of its charging fellows was particularly memorable.

Farkas pulled his weight, too. I was greatly impressed by his skill with the greatsword he carried, slicing through one enemy after another with fluid grace.

All in all, though, we didn't face any significant resistance as we purged the barrow, slaughtering the groups of six or less draugr with bolt, blade, or beak.

Until now, anyway.

A draugr ran through the door during a lull in the rain of arrows, immediately losing its head to Farkas' blade, right before the Nord asked in irritation, "I don't suppose you've got a bloody plan?!"

Okay, I liked Farkas. He was a straight-up sort, like Lucia and Serana, and I appreciated that. But, "I am a _fifteen-year-old_ adventurer _in training_ and an accomplished mage, you ice-brain!" I loosed a Reductor bolt around the corner blindly; **boom!** Dry-voiced screaming followed. "Of _course_ I have a bloody plan!"

He turned an expectant look on me, as did Scales, as the Deathlord rallied his troops in the other room and I loaded another bolt.

I grinned, letting an inferno rise up into my throat, turning my voice into a heated growl, " _Kill them all_ ," taking a deep breath, I jumped out of cover; the draugr were still recovering from my last bolt. I Shouted, " ** _YOL TOOR!_** "

The fireball left my lips like a yellow sun, bearing down on the undead company's center; I darted to the left, arrows skipping off my armor as Scales rushed into the fireball's wake while Farkas ran to the right, swearing the whole way.

 ** _THOOM!_** The draugr's formation was instantly scattered by the ensuing blast, those nearest to the impact zone being instantly disintegrated by the flames; most of the rest were thrown off their feet or staggered, making them easy targets for the three of us.

 _Chack! **BLAM!**_ Another four undead for my count, and from the sounds of steel rending ancient armor off to the right accompanied by Scales' excited screeching, both my boys were keeping pace; I holstered the crossbow in preparation for close-quarters, drawing my wand as a great-axe wielding zombie staggered my way, a piece of wood lodged in its thigh. " _Petrificus Totalus_!" It dropped its axe as it went rigid, glowing blue eyes widening briefly in surprise before my ebony axe sliced its head off.

Another one had its bow trained on me, " _Spongify!_ " Now it was just looking at the limp as a noodle bow in its hand in abject shock. Or it would have, if Scales hadn't just ploughed into its side.

A glance about the room showed the impromptu three-pronged-attack had been _very_ effective; only the Deathlord, with its ebony round-shield and sword etched with worryingly red runes, glaring at us all before its sarcophagus.

" **Zu'u fen oblaan hi, volaan!** " The undead Lord of the barrow growled, its voice sending an unsettling shiver through my core, " ** _FUS ROH DAH!_** "

I leapt out of the way as fast as I could as Scales let out a furious scream, the Shout carrying the clannfear to the far back wall; out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Farkas had hidden behind a pillar as soon as the first Word left the draugr's mouth.

Growling in frustration, as I was tired, hungry, sweaty, and I _really_ hated the way this place smelt, I circled to the Deathlord's right, its furious yellow eyes marking me as the primary threat. Farkas crept to its back as I readied another Shout, one that would weaken it enough for the final blow.

" ** _KRII LUN AUS!_** " the purple-tinged cone of magic slammed into the Deathlord, wrapping about its being and making it cry out in indignation. Its hateful gaze locked on me, taking a step forward-

Right before Farkas skewered its head, the tip of his sword leaving the beast's mouth.

The Deathlord choked and jerked, reanimation magics struggling to compensate for the fatal damage. The hulking Companion snarled, withdrawing his blade before sweeping it about, lopping the draugr's head off.

I chuckled in relief at the sight, letting some adrenaline leave my body as I caught my breath, "See, Farkas? All according to plan!"

The Nord scoffed, "What plan? You just ran in. We're lucky we didn't get torn to shreds."

"If that had happened, it would hardly have been _my_ fault," I rolled my eyes, looking for salvage as Scales checked the dead to make sure they stayed down, " _You're_ the one who had to keep up with _me_ , after all."

Farkas just grunted, crouching and recovering the Deathlord's blade, "Think this'd look nice on one of Jorrvaskr's walls?" I nodded, approaching the draugr's ruined body as well.

"Sure, take it," said I, examining the neck for my own prize, "As for me, that Dark Elf idiot thought a piece of the Gauldur Amulet was down here-ah ha!" And it seems the moron was right about something! I lifted the medallion from the creature's severed neck with a victorious grin, the item gleaming red and gold in the flickering light of the tomb's torches, "One down, two to go."

Farkas gave a curious grunt, to which I replied modestly, "Well, I won't be haring off to find the others right this second. I don't think I'm good enough for such an adventure, not yet anyway."

Scales cocked his head at me while Farkas regarded the ruined company of draugr before raising an eyebrow.

"Oh shut up! You don't even eat chicken!" snapped I, reminded of a disagreement over dinner last night, as I prowled to the back of the crypt, looking for a way out as the now amused Nord and clannfear fell into step behind me.

Not too shabby for my first adventure!

 **. . . . .  
7th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Whiterun City  
. . . . .**

"Not too shabby at all!" grinned I, tossing my newly-filled coinpurse into the air and catching it, while Farkas smirked at my side, palming his own.

We returned to Whiterun two days later, laden with (shrunken; the wand for the win!) salvage from the barrow; in my mind, it had been a better journey than my previous one by far. No bandits or mind-scarring horrors, thank you very much!

A quick trip to Warmadien's after seeing Lucia back to the Temple saw us several cuirasses and weapons lighter and a couple dozen Septims heavier. Definitely a step up from Blackreach.

"Well," drawled Farkas as we came up to Breezehome's front walk, "If there's nothing else, I'm headed off to the Mare for a drink, maybe some _company_ ," the way he said that made me think of Serana…then my treacherous brain went down her blouse before I could stop it.

"Yeah, well, you have fun with that, Farkas; oh, and thanks! I'll let you know if I have to head out again, yeah?" replied I hopefully; the tall Nord was _quite_ skilled, and, much like Scales, I'd rather have him at my back than not.

Giving an affirmative grunt, the hulking Nord swaggered off; I couldn't blame him for feeling confident. I was on a high myself from our recent victory; it was all I could do to keep myself from skipping into Morthal, for Dibella's sake!

Resisting the urge to kick the door in, as that would just piss Lydia off, I tucked my helm into my elbow and walked into Breezehome, "I'm back!"

Lydia was sitting at her desk, a letter in her hand; upon seeing me, however, she was on her feet and looking me over, "Oh, thank goodness you're alright!"

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked I, raising an eyebrow and remembering Master Drevas grumbling about the Housecarl being like a ' _mother hen_ ' at times.

Sighing, Lydia patiently explained, "I-Hermione, I know what it's like out there…so, I worry about the three of you at times," then she smiled, "I know you all can take care of yourselves, but…well, when I was your age, I didn't have anyone to worry about me while I was out or welcome me home."

Oh. I got it, "Well…thanks, Lydia, that means a lot," and I meant it; as I went to take off my armor at the table, I gave her the highlights of the adventure. Sure, I'm no Bard or anything, but Lydia seemed to enjoy hearing the tale.

When I'd finished, relating the Jarl Idgrod's thanks, Lydia sighed wistfully, "I almost wish I was still out there, seeing the world and doing some good…"

"Hey! You're doing good work here, you know!"

"Oh, I know. After Skyborn, I figured I'd be better off watching the house than getting directly involved," ' _Huh?_ ' "And speaking of letters, another letter for Thane Drevas arrived two days ago, from the Jarl of Falkreath."

 _Falkreath._

 _"…my aunt in Falkreath…"_

"Hermione?"

 _Blood in the snow. On my face._

 _Slap!_ "OW!"

Lydia looked concerned, "What's the matter? You went pale as mountain snow, for a second."

Oh. Shite. I guess I was more effected by _that_ than I thought, "It's…" I was going to say 'nothing', but the look on the Housecarl's face implied that would earn me another slap, "The…The bandits we ran into, after Blackreach?" I ventured, hoping Master Drevas told her about that. ' _Please, please, please don't make me relive that again!_ '

Understanding dawned on Lydia's face, "Oh. Yes, Drevas told me. You-You don't have to go, you know? If it's too much, I can send a refusal-"

I shook my head, "No…I-I can do this," taking a few deep breaths to center myself, I smiled and asked, "What does Jarl Siddgeir need from us?"

Lydia's gaze went from soft to businesslike, "Just that he needs something 'taken care of'- probably bandits, knowing that hold- and the reward is a," she consulted the letter at her desk, "a plot of land overlooking Lake Ilinalta, just north of the city."

O-kay…"Is that something Master Drevas could use? I mean, he doesn't seem like a farmer…"

Lydia thought for a second before replying, "I seem to recall Falkreath having an abundance of building materials, mostly from trade with Bruma, in addition to all the wood," we both snickered; Falkreath _did_ sport the densest forest in Skyrim, "If nothing else, I could commission a manor house built on the location. Knowing Thane Drevas, he'll want an Alchemy Lab and a greenhouse; he does love his gardening."

I knew what she was doing; trying to butter me up so I'd take the job! Well-

 _It totally worked._

"OOH! Can it have a library too?!"

 **. . . . .  
**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .**

 **A/N:**

 **LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOYYYYYYYYYYY JEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNKIIINNNNSSSSSSSSSSSS!**

 **lol. I couldn't resist :P**

 ***: Oath taken from the movie Kingdom of Heaven (which I don't own, except on DVD)**

 **I like that oath. It's even better that Liam Neeson's delicious-looking self was the one who first gave it. Throw in Legolas, the wonderful Eva Green and David motherfucking Thewlis and that movie was _so effing sexy_. XD I'll stop now.**

 **Not counting the title, this A/N, and date/location spacers, this chapter is over 12k words long! Whoo!**

 **The Shouts are, in order: Fire Breath, Unrelenting Force, and Marked for Death.**

 ** _Yes_ , I know you can't technically get all three words for Marked for Death without joining the Dark Brotherhood, but this is fanfiction. Deus ex Machina=Deal with It**

 **Hermione has a crush on Serana, but how does Serana feel about it? Hmm, I guess we'll have to find out, won't we!**

 **There's more than one reference to something else in pop culture here. If you can find them all, you get a sweetroll! Correction, you'll be _turned into_ a sweetroll. That way no one can steal your sweetroll!**

 ***brick flies from stage left and clocks Baked across the head***

 **Anyway, I'm gonna stop being crazy and head off to work! Thanks for reading, everyone!**

 **~Baked**

Next Time: Hermione, Scales and Farkas head to Falkreath, while Drevas and Serana have a long-awaited chat.


	8. Chapter 7: Moonless Skies

**Sorry this took so long, but here it is! Chapter 7  
Enjoy!**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .**

 **_\|/_**

 **Chapter 7:  
Moonless Skies  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
15th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
The Soul Cairn  
. . . . .**

Serana never thought she'd miss the sun, but after four days in this awful place, she found herself wishing for it.

A little over a week ago, after getting caught in a snowstorm and fighting a dragon near Mount Kilkreath, they'd located the dock beneath her…former home; without her mother there the place just hadn't felt safe, and Drevas seemed a good sort. Hence her leaving and joining the Dawnguard. Or…squatting with them; she still wasn't sure how Isran saw her, beyond a potential threat.

Through the dock, the oubliettes (a feral bitch had been living there, now she was _paste_ ), and a spider-based security measure her father had set up to dissuade the adventurous, and they'd found the old Moondial Courtyard in the center of the castle; she'd felt sad, to see her mother's garden and the place she'd felt most at peace during her violent childhood reduced to such a state.

And then there was the Moondial itself, providing a path to her mother's secret laboratory. There were defenses, but nothing that could stop someone like Drevas, or herself for that matter.

So her mother had a lab dedicated to Greater Necromancy. Serana knew a fair deal about the subject, but her mother was a _Grandmaster_. Whatever she was up to, Serana had a feeling it was on the wrong side of sane and Drevas wholeheartedly agreed with her.

It had been. In the time she'd known him, Serana had rarely heard Drevas swear in words outside his native tongue, so to hear him go on a brown streak, of such vitriol and complexity that even Old Molag would have blushed, at their discovery that her mother had opened a portal to the Soul Cairn was…surprising, to say the least.

" _…Loose-arsed fetching swine-herder of a cock-guzzling, rockjoint-ridden, pedestrian, vapid pea-brained cunt…_ "

Also informative. She didn't know half those things _could_ be swear words…

Of course, now she had to deal with a ( _seemingly_ , as it was hard to tell with the old Elf) permanently pissed-off Dragonborn as they gallivanted about a 'land' (she used that word tentatively) no living sane person would dare go, searching for someone who may or may not still exist. After four days wandering this wretched place, her blood supply dwindling and Drevas' food stores running low, with no sign of Valerica to give her hope of success, the silence of her travelling partner was starting to wear on Serana.

Sitting in one of the menacing black buildings scattered about this depressing, grey wasteland, resting after _another_ long 'day' (three cheers for pocket-watches!) of walking around aimlessly, Serana looked over at her companion: leaning against a pillar in his ebony armor, Toolbox gleaming on his back and _Starfall_ on his hip, looking out into the grey and violet expanse about them and pointedly _not_ looking at her.

At this point however, Serana had had enough, "You know," she began icily, "If I'd known you were going to _mope_ this whole time, I'd have just gotten Lydia or Gunmar to-"

" _Shut up._ " The hard finality in his tone felt like a slap to Serana.

Also, it _pissed her off_ ; orange eyes glowing and patience running out, she laid into him, "Now see here, Drevas: you didn't _have_ to come! I know you don't like necromancy, _at all_ , but this is more important than either of us, so would you _please_ at least _try_ being civil with me again?! Or at least tell me what's got you in such a funk?"

He didn't answer, at first. Serana huffed, looking out into the wastes herself. There was a pink-violet cloud in the distance; maybe they should try there next…

"It feels like the arm…" Drevas' voice was quiet enough that she would have missed it, were she not a vampire.

"What in the what now?"

"Being partially soul-trapped. It feels like the tattoo on an arm I found in Blackreach."

Huh. Okay, color her interested, "Same time as Hermione, yes?"

He nodded, bone white hair glinting in the light, "It was where she…arrived, I suppose. Anyway, I wanted you to take a look, but I guess there's no point now that I know what it was," Drevas ended in a bitter tone.

"Oh, no you don't, you pointy-haired guar-breeder," he snorted in amusement at her teasing tone; good, she was getting through to him! "I know for a fact you keep everything you find interesting in that _freaking awesome_ box of yours, which means you've been carrying, I'm guessing, a _severed arm_ with a necromantic enchantment around for the better part of three weeks."

"Your point?"

"Let me have a look?"

"Why?"

"Because we're _friends_ , you big lump."

Now he looked at her; his face was paler than usual, eyes narrowed in…was it anger? Or, something else? Didn't he trust her?

"One condition," Serana nodded for him to go on, "What are your intentions with Hermione?"

' _W-w-w-what?! Where in Oblivion did **that** come from?_' "Intentions, Drevas? What, do you think I'm going to _elope_ with your pretty, virginal apprentice?" She laughed as the look on his face morphed into incredulity, at least until his brows _slammed_ together in anger. Serana held up her hands and quickly explained before he brained her, "Vampire, remember? I can smell those sorts of things on people; as for my intentions, I'm not looking for romance or partnership if that's what you're asking. Becoming what I am took a lot of that away…" she trailed off quietly, old horrors howling at the edge of her memories, as Drevas hummed and looked away again.

"Then I suggest you stop leading her on."

Serana looked at the Dragonborn, blinking in surprise, "But, I'm not! Honest!"

"Tch," scoffed Drevas, still not looking at her, going on before Serana could say anything in her defense, "Hermione's only memories of her former life are of someone she _loves_ , Serana. Beyond that, it's all magical theory, spells, physical training, _hells, woman_ ," he looked back at her, "she had hand-to-hand combat training _before_ Lydia ever met her, so much so that she was able to pick up weapon finesse well enough to get the drop on _me_ in a matter of days."

"Granted," Serana felt the need to point out, "she _is_ smaller and faster than you are, on top of all the crap having dragon's blood grants you; plus, the only training _you_ have is live combat."

"Yes, I'll give her that, but we're getting off track; my point here is that she knows _nothing of herself_. She doesn't remember her parents, her friends, even the name of the country she comes from; _for the love of the GODS, Serana, she doesn't even remember growing up_ , and **you** ," he pointed at her, his narrowed eyes sending a chill through her being, "an immortal being of desire, lust, and power, are **sharing a bed with her**. How are you **not** leading her on?"

"Now that's not fair! I haven't shown any interest in her beyond getting to know her!" It was true, too; Serana liked Hermione, but she thought of her more like a little sister and colleague, what with her advanced magical knowledge. At Drevas' raised eyebrow, she growled pointedly, "It's _hardly_ my fault that the poor girl is confused and afraid, _Drevas_."

He looked away quickly; Serana smirked, continuing, "Also, if you're _that_ concerned about her safety and virtue, why didn't you take her to Solitude, or bring her to the College? Molag's hairy _balls_ , Drevas, you could have taken her to Isran, you know he wouldn't have a problem with it!"

"It wouldn't have addressed the whole, you know, _from another, unheard of, plane of existence_ issue."

"And _you're_ the best choice to deal with such a thing?" She _probably_ shouldn't have put that so condescendingly…

Seeing as he gave her a dirty look before replying in a tone that scraped her senses like rusty nails, "And what would you know of _me_ , or _Aetherius_ , or _Oblivion_ , or the _Daedra_ ," then he _sneered_ , " _Daughter of Coldharbour,_ **tch**. You couldn't help a mudcrab find its own claws, let alone help that girl find a way home." And looked away again.

Oh, **he _did not_ just go there**, "You want to bet, _Ashlander_?"

The air crackled. A lightning bolt fell nearby.

Then he chuckled, "Fine, you can look at the arm."

Serana blinked, before hissing at the Dunmer, "Oh, no! You just _insulted_ me! I'm not letting that stand so eas-"

"You **will** let that stand, if you know what's good for you, _vampire_ ," his eyes locked with hers, seeming to be pits of blood, the grey of his skin dancing with menacing shadows, gritted teeth doors to Oblivion as he in a tone that underscored how much he was restraining himself, "Because, despite coming from a family that worshiped a corner of the House of Troubles, _you've never watched the sun rise while the blood of your friends dried on your hands, and **smiled**_."

' _Boethiah_ ,' thought Serana, suppressing a shudder, ' _I'm stuck in the most inhospitable land in all the Planes with a Proven of Boethiah who solves most of his problems by_ killing them _,'_ gulping, she asked, "So…you'd betray me if it would make your task easier?"

"No," Drevas began removing the Toolbox, his voice back to normal, "I'm saying I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep if I had to kill you, and _I would not hesitate for a second before smashing your skull in like a common bandit_ , should you break my ward's heart."

The Daughter of Coldharbour let out a huge sigh, "I'll have a talk with her when we get back, make sure she understands my feelings toward her and vise-versa."

Her Dunmer companion nodded, "See that you do. Now, tell me what you make of this," and he opened the Toolbox.

Peeking inside, Serana was hardly surprised to find a severed forearm contained in a stasis field. The hand had part of a finger missing, and there was a tattoo just below the wrist: a skull, with a snake coming out of the mouth and wrapping about it.

Serana raised an eyebrow, "So…You're saying this ugly tattoo feels like a partial soul-trap?" Drevas grunted an affirmative; sighing, knowing that their relationship would probably be strained until they found the sun again, she reached out a gloved finger to examine the magics contained in this lame-looking tattoo.

She'd seen quite a few horrible things during her… _unlife_ , and that's not even counting what she'd gone through at her parent's hands or Old Molag's _attentions_.

If it wasn't for the fact that Hermione had shown her how magic worked in her world, she probably wouldn't have understood what she was looking at, either.

As it was…

"Well…Erm… _Well_ ," hesitated Serana, slowly withdrawing her hand.

Drevas tapped a gauntleted finger against a greave impatiently, "Any guesses, then?"

Serana cleared her throat and fixed Drevas with a piercing stare, "I have no idea who applied this tattoo, but, given what I've felt in this thing, they were cut from the same cloth as Potema and Mannimarco," her voice shook as she spoke; the Dunmer's eyebrows shot up as she continued, "We should find my mother so we can get an experienced opinion, but from what I can tell, the caster of the spell used the energies of a murdered innocent to place some kind of signaling enchantment that's tied to the supplicant's own soul."

After a moment of silence, Drevas asked quietly, "Would you be able to activate the enchantment from here?"

"Possibly," the Daughter of Coldharbour replied uneasily, "Given our…current location…we might even be able to open a Gate to the nearest individual wearing one of these. There's more," she added at the Dragonborn's tilted head, pointing at the tattoo, "Each one of these has a sort of…logbook, I guess, that activates when in the presence of a similar enchantment; it was recently in contact with another bearer of this mark."

Drevas folded his arms again, "I doubt we'd be able to sustain a Gate for long, especially given the medium involved."

Serana blinked, closing the Toolbox before she remembered, "Oh, I almost forgot you're pretty good at Conjuration. Good job not becoming a corpse-humper," she added cheekily.

He nodded, finally smiling at her; looking back to the pink-violet cloud on the horizon, Drevas mused aloud, "That cloud is the only place we haven't checked, so…"

Serana stood, "I was just thinking the same thing. Hopefully it's not _another_ giant, heavily armed and armored, undead guardian. Three of those was _too many_."

Slinging the Toolbox onto his back, Drevas agreed, "Don't remind me; although…I kind of wish we could have kept that bow," at Serana's dirty look, he elaborated, "What? It would have looked smashing on Jarl Balgruuf's wall."

Rolling her eyes in amusement, the Daughter of Coldharbour gathered her things before striding after the Last Dragonborn, both keeping watch for undead or worse as they walked to what, Serana hoped, was the end of their journey.

 **. . . . .**

' _When we get back_ ,' thought Drevas through the red haze of pain he was in, ' _I'm taking a break. No Thane duties, no fighting dragons or bandits. I'm just going to kick back and relax for a couple weeks, work on some potions while I'm at it_.'

The purple mist _had_ been their destination, evidenced by Valerica's presence; while mother and daughter had their reunion (read: argued about family morality and duty, which was so _ironic_ ), Drevas picked his nose and admired the blasted wastes around them. Not somewhere he'd want to live, but he supposed a corpse-humper would find it pleasant.

Once the argument became less actual debate and more furious vampiric hissing, the Dunmer adventurer decided it was time to cut in before he had to break up a catfight…or would it be called something else, because, well, Khajiit.

Clearing his throat to get the ladies' attention, Drevas felt it was time to get a move on, "Valerica, was it? I'm partially soul-trapped, hungry, and _really hacked-the-fuck-off_. I miss my bed, my Alchemy lab, my apprentice, and I'm out of pipe-weed. Yes, I'm a vampire hunter, but I'm also the Dragonborn, and _I have a headache. Now_ , unless you've got a _really good reason_ **not** to give us the Scroll so we can go off your husband?" He trailed off, hoping she'd get the point.

She didn't, "Arrogance will get you nowhere, Dunmer. You don't know what Harkon-" Perhaps it was time to take this diplomatic discourse to the next stage.

" _Woman_." Valerica's jaw clicked shut as she looked rather affronted at being interrupted, not to mention shocked at Drevas' hard tone, "I've **been** to Coldharbour. It was a dump last time I was there, and I'll assume nothing's changed since. I know _exactly_ what your _s'wit bastard_ of a husband is capable of, and, as I kill _dragons_ on a regular basis, I'm not terribly impressed by what I've seen thus far."

"Mother, I wouldn't even _be_ here if not for Drevas," pleaded Serana, "We've already killed the Keepers you spoke about, so why are you hesitating?!"

The older Daughter of Coldharbour sighed in defeat before replying, "Because those Keepers were only the first line of defense the Ideal Masters put in place to keep me here; I'm actually wondering where the other is, as it was given to him to watch over the Keepers."

Serana glanced worriedly at Drevas, who was getting tired of all this necromantic bullshit, "So what is the final line of defense? A lich or something?"

"Durnehviir," hissed Valerica hatefully, "A powerful dragon in service to the Ideal Masters."

There was no wind in the Soul Cairn, so when the resulting silence fell, it hit the ground at terminal velocity.

The Thane of Whiterun blinked at the name before replying, " _Curse-Never-Dying_? Huh. That sounds…huh."

Serana scoffed, "Just a dragon, mother? Between the three of us, we should be able to handle it. We _do_ have a Dragonborn on hand, after all."

And that was the argument all wrapped up in a neat bow. So it obviously followed that the bloody undead dragon would jump them right before they got to the Scroll.

In the end, though, it was just a dragon; for anyone else, it would have been a legendary feat to fell the beast.

For Drevas of Mournhold, it was Tirdas.

Still, this one was a tougher customer than the usual dragons; it breathed pestilent frost, used Marked for Death and Disarming Shouts, and had another Shout that summoned Wrathmen, Mistmen, and even summoned that Keeper with the giant mace at one point, all while flying about the battlefield and trying its level best to kill the three of them.

Unfortunately for the dragon, whose roar was the warhorn of Death itself, its opponents were two Daughters of Coldharbour and the Last Dragonborn, none of whom were in the mood to hold back.

Ribbons of blood whipped about the arena amidst torrents of dragonfire, sheets of blue lightning and flying spears of ice, summoned Hungers ripped into Wrathmen with shrieking wails, and the sound of _Starfall_ shattering the Keeper's hammer shook the stones of Valerica's prison amidst Drevas' blood-crazed laughter.

Drevas couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much _fun_ , and the God-Ancestor was _definitely_ pleased with his performance!

Though that was the bloodlust talking, he realized as he came back to himself once the beast had vanished, mainly due to Drevas jumping on its back and caving its skull in; he didn't really care what Boethiah thought of him, as he just used the Daedra as a tool when he fought, and it wasn't like he'd come through this fight unscathed. The Dunmer's left forearm was badly broken, he'd lost his helm at some point, and his broken ribs were grinding against each other. So, all in all, it had been a good fight.

' _Give me a couple more dragons like this_ ,' he thought as he twisted his arm back into place with a grinding _crunch_ before flooding his body with Restoration magic, ' _None of the others had any guts, basically fought like fancy bears. This one though…Only Alduin was tougher than this fucker_. _I haven't had a fight like that since I left Hammerfell_.'

Breathing heavily as he felt his ribs shift back into place and mend, Drevas wondered where that ringing sound was coming from… _oh_. He swiped a glowing finger over each ear, sound slowly coming back to him.

"…vas? Mr. Drevas, can you hear me?" Oh, Valerica; the Dunmer turned to look at her-

 _Serana was cut in half at the waist,_ frowning up at the sky, while Valerica dragged her lower half over to her, "Well. That dragon was certainly tougher than usual. Drevas, could I get some blood over here?"

' _Oh. Right, immortal vampire_ ,' thought Drevas as he removed a gauntlet and approached the two vampires, remarking airily, "Remind me to take you to a Forsworn fort on the way back, Serana."

She smiled at him as her mother made her body whole once more with a spell, "Oh, so I get a reward for surviving this?"

Valerica huffed as Drevas cut his wrist and held it over Serana's open mouth, "I don't know if I should be grateful or concerned, Serana, considering the company you keep. What is that mace even _made of_?"

"Ebony and some kind of meteoric iron that's heavier than what you get out of the ground; I had to put a band of metal enchanted with Feather around the haft just to lift the bloody thing when I found it. And the dragon's defeated, yes?" drawled Drevas, healing his arm again as Serana licked up a few stray drops, "I don't think the _how_ matters, so long as the results are satisfactory."

"Yes, Durnehviir is defeated," admitted Valerica as they both helped Serana to her feet, "For now; his physical body _will_ reconstitute after some time, as his unlife is tied to the power of the Ideal Masters."

" _Fantastic_ ," hissed Serana in annoyance, "In that case, let's grab the Scroll and get out of here." Drevas couldn't agree more; he was running out of arrows.

Collecting the final Scroll was as easy as picking it up from a fancy chest in Valerica's redoubt and putting it in the Toolbox with the others. Though, that reminded Drevas of his earlier conversation with Serana.

' _We'll have to take the risk of facing Durnehviir again; I told Hermione I'd do whatever I can to help her, and this falls into that category_ ,' resetting the Toolbox, he addressed Valerica, who was looking at the case with great interest, "Before we take our leave, I'd like your professional opinion on something," Drevas opened the case, revealing the severed arm with its necromantic tattoo.

Valerica's eyebrows rose over her glowing eyes, "What's this?"

Serana explained briefly, "Suffice to say, mother, we're not sure. It came from an unknown Plane with a young girl."

As an interested Valerica knelt to examine the arm, Drevas gave a few more details, "From what I've gathered, she, and by extension the person this arm was once attached to, came from another Mundus," the Master Necromancer looked up at him in shock, to which he nodded before adding, "Needless to say, if you ever leave this place, keep whatever you learn today close to your chest."

"Of course," Valerica shakily replied, before turning her attention back to the arm, "The last thing our world needs is _another_ Dragon Break," she stoked a finger over the tattoo, tracing the snake as she mused out loud, "I sense the essence of the unquiet dead, and the will of another; capable of calling to the other…there are more of its kind, waiting for their master's direction. It's more like a leash and collar than anything I've witnessed…the magic in this, it's only an echo, with no life to fuel it, but I think I can…" she jerked back suddenly, eyes widening in fear and shock " _Shor_ , who has done this?!"

Drevas' hand flew to his mace, "What is it?" If that thing had corrupted his Toolbox somehow…

Valerica's face contorted into _hateful rage_ , "The girl you spoke of, does she bear such a mark?" At their negative response, she sighed in relief, "Good. This… _thing_ , it resonates with the soul of another; in a way, it's like a minor anchor for the caster's entire life force. To do something like this…Aedra and Daedra, it is a _crime_ , far worse than anything I can imagine."

"Are you saying that, so long as there's someone with one of these cheesy tats, the corpse-humper who placed it is _immortal_?!" growled Drevas; the implications alone…did the world Hermione come from have its own Mannimarco?

"No, it's worse," the Volkihar matron replied disgustedly while her daughter's eyes widened in shock, "The caster, in order to create even _one_ of these leashes… _they would have to fragment their **own soul**_. Multiple times," Valerica turned a hateful gaze on both horrified adventurers, "To do such a thing…the ones who bear these brands had to murder an innocent, and the applicator tied a piece of themselves into each tattoo. It is _deplorable_ , the ritual involved. Whoever did this was a true monster, completely lacking any form of compassion or decency. Even the King of Worms would never do something so _heinous_."

"And Hermione doesn't remember much of her history," mused Serana quietly while Drevas fumed in quiet anger, "Do…Drevas, do you think she might have been banished here, for standing against this monster or his servants?"

Before he could reply, Valerica managed to ease their concerns, "I should think it the latter, Serana; this Mark is dormant and has been for some time, but was recently in contact with another leashed _dog_ ," the vampire spat in disgust, "So, it is likely that the monster who created it was defeated in some form long ago, and this…Hermione, was it? She likely ran afoul of our departed subject here; _how_ they came to be in Mundus, however, is anyone's guess."

' _A Gate, maybe_?' "I couldn't find any other residual magics on the arm," commented Drevas with a frown, "So it wasn't a Gate through the Oblivion Planes…" this was where he was stumped, because it _just couldn't be_.

"Some unknown plane in the Aubris, then?" suggested Serana hopefully. Drevas shook his head; he couldn't see any of the Gods suffering such a breach of their careful balance.

Valerica agreed with him, "No, that's not likely; such an event would have been noticed and contained, either by one of the Princes or Akatosh. What a curious mystery this is…"

Then Drevas remembered something else, a conversation in the Elder Scroll chamber, "She practically fell out of thin air…in _Blackreach_. Could…Could it be the Dwemer?" He looked incredulously at the two women; Serana looked…disturbed, likely due to her helping Hermione enchant _Stormbringer_.

Valerica, on the other hand, was giving him an inquisitive look, speaking slowly, "The Dwemer? Also no. They were obliterated by the Heart, punished for their hubris even as the Chimer were for their insolence, hence your grey skin and red eyes."

"Hermione knows the runes the Dwemer used, though," the elder vampire's eyes bulged in surprise, "Even if Hermione herself isn't Dwemer, the vehicle or method used _might_ be, hence their appearance in Blackreach."

" _Or_ ," Valerica pointed out, "It could be that it was a transportation spell, such as Mark/Recall, that went awry; if the Mark or Recall point were interfered with, a magical barrier or glyph shield being in the way for example, the results would be unpredictable at best, catastrophic at worst. Given that she wasn't killed, however, the unstable spell may have simply placed her at a point in our world with great magical resonance, which Blackreach has in abundance."

Drevas nodded, thinking furiously on all he knew of Conjuration and Mysticism, while Serana put in, "But what of the Dwemer? Could she have been trained by one?"

"Assuming a member or two somehow went to her world?" Serana nodded at her mother's dryly asked question, "Given that they vanished nearly four millennia ago, it's _possible_ that the Dwemer left behind a text or two that she learned from, or that certain members of her race are descended from them. Without proof of their continued existence, however, such theories are purely conjecture despite her knowledge of their runes."

"We'll have to ignore that issue for now, as we'll get nowhere without more evidence," Valerica nodded at Drevas' observation, but he wasn't done, "Though…Could the Dwemer have left behind an artifact that opens a gate to Blackreach, specifically?"

"I don't think they would," Serana replied, "If they had such a thing, why not use it?"

Drevas groaned; nothing for it, then, "In that case, our best chance is to replicate the enchantment on the arm as best we can, and attempt to open a Gate to Hermione's plane."

Valerica stared at him disbelievingly, "You…You _cannot_ be serious! The actions we would have to take-"

"We wouldn't have to do _much_ , mother," grinned Serana, "Hermione taught me how her world's magic functions; they don't teach pattern configurations, but their spells _do_ have patterns. If we replicate the spell pattern inside a filled black soul gem-"

"We could create a false anchor, one that could be used as a Gate locus," Drevas finished with a smirk of his own, "I'd prefer a Sigil Stone, personally, but I'd rather not go to the Deadlands to fetch one."

Valerica's disbelief had turned to pleasant surprise as her daughter and the Dragonborn elaborated on their plan, "Hmm, I rescind my earlier statement, Serana; you clearly have good taste in associates," ' _Oh great, the vampire lady_ likes _me,_ ' thought Drevas disgustedly, "I've noticed, though, you've avoided one possibility…"

Drevas knew where she was going, and cut her off, " _No._ We won't entertain _that_ possibility. Because if that _is_ the case," he growled, eyes hardening when Valerica tried to interrupt while Serana frowned at him, "if the Aedra had a hand in bringing her here, then that means everything that's happened to her since her arrival was _destined_ , that she's a Champion, and I refuse to believe that the Divines would do that to so young a person."

A moment of silence fell as the two vampires digested his words; it was Valerica, however, who broke it, and shook Drevas to the core with but two words:

"Martin Septim."

The Last Dragonborn wished she hadn't reminded him of _that_ event, the moment in history where everything started falling apart, all because of two Champions: one, a nigh-unkillable adventurer whose quality and strength were unquestionable, and a young, honest man with the blood and selflessness of Alessia herself, a true Emperor.

A red-haired Hero died in regret. An Emperor sacrificed himself. All because Akatosh willed it.

 _And look where it got them_.

If Hermione was a Champion, called from some distant shore, and the Divines gave her to _him_ …

Shaking his head to clear the depressing thoughts, Drevas finally replied, "It's moot, regardless. She can't go home until we find a way, and this," he pointed at the arm, "is the first step to figuring that out." Both Daughters of Coldharbour nodded in agreement.

"Let's get started, then."

 **. . . . .  
16th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Town of Falkreath  
. . . . .**

Farkas would not panic. No, he bloody would _not panic_. He could fix this. He'd been in worse situations than this before; the scrap he'd gotten into two years ago with Vilkas, Aela, and those Forsworn Witches in East Reach came to mind. He could handle this, damn it!

Two days after getting back to Whiterun from Morthal, Hermione had come up to the mead hall with a new mission: go to Falkreath and do some of the Jarl's dirty work in exchange for some land. Seeing as there weren't any other jobs at the moment, he'd agreed; mostly, though, he wanted to deal with some bandit scum. The crackdown had been fun, but things had been quiet in Whiterun lately.

So off to Falkreath they went, just after lunch on the 9th, Scales the clannfear in tow.

Spending the night at the Sleeping Dragon in Riverwood was a good idea, as they were able to get a good idea of where they might be ambushed along the road, thanks to some hunters staying at the inn. Too bad there was only a single bed; not that Farkas cared, he didn't get much sleep as it was, being a Werewolf and all. So his bedroll went onto the floor and the hulking Nord followed shortly after.

Hermione had the _cutest_ little snore, though. Too bad she wasn't a couple years older…or apprenticed to the scariest person he'd ever met.

Just before first light, as he was checking their gear, she'd woken with a start.

"Bad dream?" asked Farkas as he checked his greatsword for nicks, ' _Might have to get a better blade soon. Steel's good, but Dwarven might be better_.'

Hermione blinked a couple times before answering around a yawn, "Ah, no…just, a memory from before, I guess."

"Hmph," grunted Farkas, interested in his client's wellbeing.

Sighing, she told him with a smile in her voice as she pulled on her boots, "Apparently, I was friends with a redheaded boy who had more brawn than sense…Too bad I can't remember anything beyond his name, and the fact that we sparred regularly."

"Hrmm," the Werewolf grunted in understanding, before adding, "Must've been good, if you learned from him."

"Actually, he was shite until Harry corrected his forms. We all got used to falling down, after that," the Thane's apprentice stood and stretched her arms over her head, bones popping and giving Farkas a fine view of her midriff when her tunic rose, finishing with fond humor, "Stupid lanky git."

Farkas didn't ask if she meant this Ron person, or himself; he wasn't suicidal. He could handle the lass, but the clannfear would probably kill him.

Heading further south turned out to be harder than Farkas had first expected, mostly because it started raining just after they passed the Guardian Stones; and if Farkas knew anything about Falkreath, it's that when it rains there…

 _It bloody **rains**_.

As in, the Divines pouring buckets from on high so the world could turn to mud.

So it was that they got to the town of Falkreath in the early morning, on the 11th of Rain's Hand, soaked through, grumpy, and mildly dinged up from when a bandit group decided attacking them was a good idea. Speaking of which, Farkas was actually kind of surprised they didn't turn and run after Hermione blew two of them to pieces with that magic stick of hers; but, then, smart people rarely turn to banditry.

Their fucking mage gave her a hard time, though, throwing spikes of ice and dancing about while Farkas had a 'discussion' with the bandit's boss; Scales ended up gutting the milk-drinker while Hermione herself yanked icicles out of her armor while swearing. Good thing it was a Masterwork, or Farkas' days would be numbered. He _really_ didn't want to get Drevas on his bad side.

After drying off and hammering out some dings, the two fronted up to the Jarl just after ten bells in the morning, looking quite spiffy and ready for anything.

So of course the slimy fuck immediately sends them off to clear bandits out of a cramped, dusty _mine_. Bandits that, funnily enough, he'd _fucking hired before_.

Tosser.

His client agreed with his impression of Falkreath's Jarl, quite colorfully at that, and he couldn't blame her, especially after dealing with the two most competent Jarls in Skyrim. Jarl Siddgeir was a right little twat when they left and his mood hadn't changed when they got back from bowling the bandits.

As for the bandits? Eh, the draugr were more interesting. Smarter, too; you'd think that the whole cavern would've been up in arms after the door guards got loudly blown up by Hermione's crossbow, but no, they just waited in their posts and, generally, died quickly, and occasionally loudly.

Farkas' ears were still ringing when they got back, requiring a quick stop at the Temple, but that might have been the bear that snuck up on them. Or the spriggan. Or the troll (Hermione had some history with those, if her shriek of terror was any sign. His killing the thing with _extreme prejudice_ seemed to set her mind at ease). The young Wolf also _might_ have forgotten just how _wild_ Falkreath could be, but living in Whiterun did that to a person.

And the Jarl's thanks? "Ah, here's a bit of gold, for your trouble," and gives them _eight bloody Septims_. To split. If it wouldn't have caused an incident between Whiterun and Falkreath, Farkas would've torn the ice-brain's arm off and beat him senseless with it.

So he let Hermione do the talking.

"Err," began Hermione carefully, no doubt trying to be nice while Farkas fumed behind her, "My Jarl, I was under the impression that a plot of land would be for sale, hence my Thane's eagerness."

"Oh, that?" had the greasy-palmed fuck-wit _actually forgotten_?! "Well, I _could_ allow you to buy land in my Hold…if you become better acquainted with my people. I can't simply allow _anyone_ the privilege of living here, what with the bandit issues and all. I might let in the wrong sort, if you follow me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment."

Which explained why she went and ordered six bottles of _mead_ after arriving at the inn for the night, on the 14th. Being a ( _somewhat_ ) responsible adult, Farkas took four of the bottles off Hermione before she hurt herself (or killed the Jarl. Not that he'd complain if the longhouse _accidently_ burnt to the ground, but Kodlak might not understand). Good news: Hermione was the funniest drunk he'd ever seen.

The people of Falkreath seemed to think so, too. Especially after the two of them (plus Scales, who had _somehow_ snuck into the inn and drank an entire case of Black-Briar mead before anyone noticed, and by then everyone was too drunk to care) wove a drunken tale of their clearing the barrow in Morthal, sword-swings and flying bolts and claw-strikes multiplying tenfold, the paltry three score dried-up corpses that they'd fought turning into an army fit to take Solitude with ease. The townsfolk ate it up, and they'd even made a couple extra Septims for their performance.

That they'd gotten a free room for the week out of the story was just icing on the sweetroll.

The next day had been uneventful, aside the fact that Hermione _apparently_ didn't get hangovers. ' _Must be a Dragonborn thing…_ ' Farkas figured as he chopped some firewood for the nice (if somewhat creepy) Redguard lady what ran the Apothecary, doing so as a way to fight through his hangover. Hermione herself had taken Scales out of the town for a bit of a lark; he found out later, while they were getting their armor seen to by the town blacksmith, that there was a spriggan harassing travelers a ways up the road. One frost bolt and Scales' bulk and the sprite was firewood. She'd even found a chest full of drakes and a couple gemstones in the forest guardian's hideout, so she was on a high when she told the story to the smiling Companion.

He'd ruffled her hair fondly for that one, much to her frustration.

It was around midnight, while dozing on the inn's porch, that Farkas realized Hermione was starting to grow on him. Sure, she was his client, but it was getting obvious that the buck-toothed lass could take care of herself well enough, and, unlike the ladies in Whiterun that weren't named Aela or Lydia, Hermione wasn't annoying. A little reckless, sure, but Farkas figured most fighters were like that; Farkas knew he was at times, as was Skjor, even Thane Drevas was bloody reckless (granted, when you had a mace that weighed as much as a _mammoth_ and could swing it around like it weighed _nothing_ , you could be as reckless as you damn-well pleased).

But Hermione? Well, before this adventure, Kodlak _had_ suggested, on hearing about what happened in Morthal, to get the lass' measure in case she showed an interest in joining the Companions, and from what Farkas had seen so far, he'd like her as a Shield-Sister.

At least she knew when to be flowery and when to cuss like a street rat, unlike Vilkas; plus, _someone_ had to watch out for the girl. Thane Drevas, for all his skill, wasn't a person you could stay sane around, and that pet vampire of his wasn't helping Farkas' feeling that Hermione needed someone… _saner_ than the Dark Elf in her life.

All he had to do was word it to Hermione in such a way that wouldn't make it seem like he was making a pass at her…

Sometimes, Farkas mused as he drifted off that night, he wished Vilkas was around; at least _he_ knew how to be flowery at the right times.

Which brings the Wolf to now, definitely _not_ panicking as he stormed out of the town to shift to Werewolf form and find Scales; only milk-drinkers panicked, and Farkas wasn't a milk-drinker. In fact, he couldn't recall _ever_ drinking milk. No, the tallest, strongest (barring Kodlak) member of the Companions was most _certainly_ _not panicking_.

He was **pissed. The. Fuck. Off.**

When Farkas went to gather Hermione so they could go check out a nearby barrow (good practice for vampires, in his opinion), he found her room empty. No Hermione, no armor, no crossbow, and her pack wasn't there either. Just a note, left on her pillow.

A black palm-print on it. With two words that made Farkas' blood run cold.

 **HAIL SITHIS**

His first thought was, ' _Oh, fuck me. Kodlak's gonna break my arms and give me to Thane Drevas as dragon bait._ '

His second thought was, 'No. _Fuck that right in the ear with a battleaxe! I'll just head out, change to wolf-form, and sniff her out; Scales should be able to help with that._ '

And Farkas' final thought before he allowed the beast to take over? ' _Please,_ please _don't be dead lass. I don't want to get ripped apart by an angry Dark Elf_.'

 **. . . . .  
16th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary  
. . . . .**

As I woke from a _very_ pleasant dream of a shirtless Harry sparring with me, I realized two things immediately.

One: I wasn't in my bed at the inn, and two: my hands and legs were bound to a chair.

Oh, and I had a burlap sack over my head, but that probably wouldn't last long; good thing I wasn't _naked_ , or this situation would go from 'dire' to 'possibly fatal' on my threat grading system.

' _Take stock: slightly cotton-mouthed, so I was drugged but I'm coming out of it now. Can't smell anything past this sack, but the air feels damp. A cave…shite, I hope this isn't bandits…_ ' both my arms were on the armrests, fingers and wrists tied separately, so whoever kidnapped me knows what they're doing.

"Ooh! Ooh! Astrid! She's awake!" came an excited adult male's voice that was obviously tinged with madness, accompanied by a skipping sound. ' _Or they just got lucky.'_

"I can see that, Cicero. Calm down, and take that sack off her head," a woman, whose voice couldn't get oilier if she _tried_ , "I'd like to speak with our… _guest_." I stand corrected!

The bag comes roughly off my head to reveal my surroundings: a stained-glass window with a _hideous_ sarcophagus in front of it directly across me, stone walls with a moldy scent about them (' _So I_ am _underground…fabulous._ '), and a bunch of useless junk scattered about the room, minus my gear in a pile by the door on my left.

There were also two _very dangerous_ looking people in the room with me.

One was a man in a… _jester's uniform_. He was also grinning madly at me and caressing a sharp ebony dagger in a _very disturbing_ way; ' _Huh. He looks ridiculous. And insane. I better get out of here, and fast_.'

The other…was a tall blonde Nord woman with an even _deadlier_ looking dagger on her hip, all dressed in black and red skintight leather; at first glance, I thought I might be in a sick bordello of some sort, given their clothing choices and the size of the woman's baps.

Speaking of which, it was around then that I saw the **Black Hand** stitched on the woman's breast. ' _Oh fuck_. OH FUCK! _Oh shite, bugger, and Namira's sagging arsecheeks, how the_ Nine _did I get the attention of the Dark Fucking Brotherhood?!_ '

The woman, Astrid presumably, spoke first, "From the look on your face, you're probably wondering why you're here, Hermione of Whiterun. Well, allow me to explain, briefly, why you've been brought to our humble Sanctuary."

She dragged another chair in front of me; ' _So…an interrogation? Okay, whatever, as long as I live!_ ' Letting the silence drag on for a moment, the woman spoke:

"Listen, _Hermione_ ," purred the bitch, because how _dare_ she say my name like that, "This is how this meeting is going to go down: you have information on a person. This person has been marked for death by the Black Sacrament. You are going to tell me everything I want to know about this person, and, if you cooperate and _I'm_ satisfied with the information you've given, you'll be let go. How does that sound, honey?" Need I say all that was delivered in a tone one might use on a _five-year-old_?

Shifting my arms a little in my bonds and slowly gathering an inferno in my throat, I responded as politely as I could, "Sounds good, lady. Who do I know that needs to die?" ' _As if I can't guess…_ '

The jester pouted while the woman smiled and replied in that same purr, "Drevas of Mournhold, Thane of Whiterun and the Dragonborn of legend. Actually, depending on how _good_ you are," ' _Oh Gods, she's not._ ' "I might even give you a cut of the reward."

' _Play along. Farkas will no doubt be along shortly with Scales in tow, and then these twats'll be_ paste _,_ ' I hoped; putting on an innocent smile, I then replied chirpily, "Okay, yeah! What, um, do you want to know?"

Astrid smiled like the cat that got the cream as she oiled, "Why don't you tell me everything you know about the Dunmer, and _then_ I'll ask questions."

"Sure!" ' _Stupid bitch_ ,' and I began expounding, at _great_ length, everything I knew about Master Drevas, starting with his knowledge of the Dwemer and working my way toward the whole vampire mess. This _Astrid_ seemed to be absorbing the information well, if her slowly vanishing smile and rising eyebrows anything to go by; I even described, in detail, how Drevas killed that frost troll that I was still having nightmares about. To my satisfaction, the bitch looked a bit green when I wound that part up.

After about twenty minutes of buying time, I was just explaining Master Drevas' recipe for Khajiiti spiced pork wraps (which were _really_ delicious) when Astrid held up a hand to halt me, "Okay. Wow, you're just a little egghead in fancy armor, aren't you? I can't help but notice, however, that you _still_ haven't told me where your master currently is…" and that Cicero guy started grinning again.

' _Where the **fuck** is Farkas?!_' "Oh! Sorry, I got carried away. Um, well, I don't know _exactly_ where Master Drevas is," said I slowly, trying to buy myself a little more time, "but I know where to look!" Astrid the Bitch nodded for me to go on, a hungry gleam in her eye, "Go to Mount Kilkreath and take the road north to the coast. Skirt around the Thalmor-occupied fort, can't miss it with all the goldskins strutting about, and go to the giant castle built on an island in the Sea of Ghosts. Again, can't miss it; bloody thing is _huge_."

There was quiet for a moment, apparently as the assassins in front of me processed that information; then, the bloody jester _clapped his hands and did a little jig_. Unbelievable, "Oh! Oh! I know the castle she speaks of, Astrid! Annnnnd…methinks the little hellion is trying to get us killed, oh _yes she issss!_ "

I blinked a few times as Astrid the Bitch asked the jester mildly, "What makes you think that, Cicero?"

This… _Cicero_ , giggled like a _child_ before replying, "Oh, just the fact that she's given us directions to a castle full of _vampires_! Icky, nasty, bloodsucking, Molag Bal worshiping vampires, at that! A clever jest," clap-clap, jig, "but you can't fool Cicero!"

"Hmm," the bitch turned back to me with a scary grin, "That's a shame. I suppose I'll have to cut off a few of those pretty fingers for lying to me."

' _Gods above, **really?!**_ **'** "Lady, I'm tied to a chair in a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, at the mercy of an unhinged loon and…well, _you_ ," she drew her dagger anyway, but I wasn't done, "I'm really not lying; my master is in that castle to _off_ said Molag Bal worshiping vampires. Yes, I know, that's kind of unbelievable, but my master does crazy things like that all the time!"

"Oh, I believe you," the fucking bitch purred, coming closer with that dagger, "and I'll be checking out your story, right after I make you scream a bit."

 _Crash!_

Both the assassins whirled to look at the window at the distant sound of shattering stone, while I thought, ' _IT'S ABOUT FUCKING TIME, FARKAS!_ ' Figuring I should give him an advantage as the Scales-induced screaming started, I let the inferno in my throat rise up to my lips, " ** _YOL!_** "

Good thing dragonfire is so hot and these two were standing so close together, or that wouldn't have worked so well. I could do without the smell of burning flesh and that jester's voided bowels, though, but Reductor-blasted bandits honestly smelled worse.

A pair of feral roars left my ears ringing, but I was too busy throwing my weight backwards, breaking the chair and banging my head on the floor in the process, to pay attention to the sounds of Farkas and Scales tearing the Brotherhood a new breathing slit. Blinking the stars away, I rolled over to my gear and used the edge of my axe to quickly cut the ropes away as the crashing and bangs got louder. I'd just loaded _Stormbringer_ and set it to Fire/Shock when the door behind me opened.

A panicked-looking Redguard in bloodied robes was there, "Astrid! We're-"

 _Cha-BZZKK!_

"Oh, sorry, were you saying something?" asked I sarcastically to his twitching, smoking corpse as I reloaded and grabbed my wand case, "It's really too bad you went and _died_ so suddenly, I'm sure it was an _absolutely enlightening_ sentence." Kneeling and checking the case, I found, that my wand hadn't been on Astrid when I cooked her, _thank the Gods_.

Not that I had much time for celebration, as an old man (sans left arm) entered the room right at that moment and loosed a lightning bolt at me before I could react.

I'd been shocked before; Serana's excuse was getting me used to the sensation, so I wouldn't freeze up and get killed due to inaction. Of course, she was probably thinking of hedge-wizards and lighter spells and assuming I'd be wearing armor, not the fucking _Thunderbolt_ that smashed into my unarmored right shoulder with all the subtlety of a charging bear.

Which hurt, a lot. Through tears and greying vision I saw the old fart screaming something at me, charging up a purple and red spell that looked like it might kill me.

Today wasn't really going so well for me; beyond all the Dark Brotherhood shite, my right shoulder was a cooked mess, my body was still twitching as the aftereffects of the lightning bolt made my nerves misfire, and I'd just soiled myself as a result. Oh, and I was about to die, which would be quite the blow to my plans for the future. Altogether, the events of this morning left me feeling _quite furious._

So I used the worst spell I could think of, given how _utterly_ _livid_ I was, hissing, " _Crucio_ ," before the old fuck could get his own spell off.

I don't really remember what happened after that. Vaguely, I realized the fucker screamed (presumably, as I was sort of deafened) and writhed until my vision went totally grey. Probably because I was on the verge of death until a battered and bloody Farkas found me, slapped me into semi-consciousness so I could down a healing potion, and put me in a bed to recover.

It might have been an hour or so before I regained full consciousness, blinking away the lingering grey and shunting some healing magic into my shoulder. Scales appeared in front of my face a second later, licking me and chirping worriedly.

My laugh of relief turned into a cough as I pushed him away, "Back off, mate. I'm fine, and I know where that beak of yours has been." It was then I realized I was _shirtless_ ; remembering the fight, I couldn't blame Farkas for getting me out of my ruined tunic. Maybe there was another lying about. The spot where the Thunderbolt hit was a puffy mass of scarred flesh, but it didn't hurt when I touched it, ' _Bastard. As if I need more scars_.'

"Lass," came Farkas' deep, gruff voice from somewhere to my right; looking over to find him sitting on the floor with his back against a wall and partially hidden in shadow, I noticed his armor had a few new gashes in it, his ice-blue eyes fixed on me, "What the _hells_ did you do to that old guy?"

' _Huh?...OH. Oh shite_ ,' realizing what I'd just done as the cobwebs in my mind fell apart, I gulped to calm myself and gave Farkas the straight truth, "It's called…the Torture Curse. I, ah, may have come across its history during my studies with Harry. I've never cast it myself, though…"

"Until today," the Werewolf grumbled, adding, "Well, just don't cast it on _me_. Old fart was begging for death when I got up there," ' _Way to go, Granger_ ,' I thought sarcastically, but Farkas wasn't finished, "Are you sure you want to keep doing this?"

I blinked in confusion, "Keep doing what?"

" _This_ ," he gestured around expansively, "Being an adventurer. Are you sure you want this life?"

Frowning, I asked for clarification in a flinty voice, "If you've got something to say to me, Farkas, say it."

He sighed, but did as I asked, "Hermione, _you nearly died_ ," I flinched, but he kept going, "You didn't, and that's what matters, but there it is. I ain't stupid, lass; I know what you're trying to get into, following Thane Drevas around. I'll tell you now, straight up, that the shit that Dark Elf gets into would get normal folk killed any day of the week."

"I know, Farkas; he fights _dragons-_ "

The Wolf growled before cutting across me, " _Damn it_ , lass, dragons ain't the half of it! Most people who do mercenary or adventuring work would _hesitate_ before plumbing a Dwarven ruin, or run into a den of vampires, or take on a fort filled with bandits! Even with help, there'd be a plan of some sort and a half-dozen fighters _at least_ ; but _Drevas_? He doesn't _need a plan_ , because he's been doing this shit for so fucking long that he can walk into that ruin, _and_ that den, _and_ that fort _by himself_ while whistling a tune, and he'll come back victorious because _he's that fucking good_."

As he paused for breath, I ignored the wavering feeling in my heart and said in a slightly shaky voice, "Farkas, _I know_. That's why I'm out here; I need to find my way back home, and Master Drevas is my best bet. Believe me," my tone went earnest when he opened his mouth to rant again, "I'd much rather not go around k-killing people, even if they deserve it, but if it gets me the respect and support that I need to go h-home…" I trailed off, mostly because I was trying _very hard_ not to break down again. Scales hopped onto the foot of the bed and nudged my knee with his beak, supposedly trying to be a comfort; I just wished Serana was here with me…

Because I was afraid. Yes, I knew I wouldn't waver from the path I'd set for myself, deep in Blackreach, but that didn't stop me from being afraid in the face of the task before me.

Farkas, though…He got to his feet with a pained grunt and hobbled over to the chair next to my bed before saying, "I get it…sort of. I'm not gonna ask about where you come from, because, knowing Drevas, it's probably some crazy shit that I don't want to get too involved in," he clapped a large, calloused hand on my bare shoulder as I let out a wet and hollow laugh, "But I see it in your eyes: you're not too afraid of getting hurt and you can take care of yourself well enough. Still, you need to be better at not getting hurt if you want to fight at that crazy Dark Elf's level, let alone get back home in one piece."

I nodded, wiping my eyes on my arm and getting ahold of myself; after a moment I chuckled and asked, "So what the hells happened to you? You look like you got mauled by a bear."

Farkas rolled his eyes and replied in a dry tone, "Werewolf, actually. And then there was a vampire that looked like a kid, oh, _and_ a scaly fucker with his Ashskin whore! If it wasn't for Scales, I'd be dead." The clannfear in question barked in agreement.

"At least you didn't have the jester. Creep," getting to my feet, I checked a nearby dresser for a new tunic. Black. Of course; pulling it on and turning to my armor as Scales started sniffing behind the dresser, I asked Farkas, "How long have I been-"

"About two hours," he replied, hefting a couple knapsacks full to bursting with coinpurses and gear, "If we hurry, we might be able to make it back to Falkreath in time for breakfast."

By the time he'd finished, I was in my greaves and working on my cuirass, "We're torching this place first. Maybe even caving the ceiling in, if I can manage it."

Ten minutes later, I was standing back in the room I'd woken in, in full kit and looking down at the charred body of Astrid the Bitch…who was _somehow_ still alive, if incapable of speaking. Her glare spoke volumes, though. Not that I cared; she'd kidnapped me, planned to torture me for a giggle. That made this personal.

Looking up at the sarcophagus, I began to speak, "Given the state you're in, I don't know if you can even hear me, bitch, but I'll say it anyway: _you fucked up_. What you _should_ have done was slit Farkas' throat while he slept, and killed Scales…not that any of you had the balls or talent to actually _do_ either of those things. On top of that, you fucked with _me_." I looked back down at Astrid, "Be glad it's me, and not my Master, that's dealing with you. Because if you think _I'm_ terrible, well…" chuckling darkly, I knelt picked up the dagger lying just out of her reach, the one she was going to use on me; her eyes widened in fury as I concluded, "It doesn't really matter, does it? You're dead either way."

 _Shick!_

Drawing my wand, I looked back at the sarcophagus. I'd read enough about Tamriel's history to know what this was, so I said, "So ends your Dark Family, Night Mother, never to rise again. No one will know what happened today, because I'll never tell them, and neither will Farkas. Though, even if I _do_ , sometime in the far future," smirking, I leveled my wand at the Night Mother's coffin, "there can be no Black Hand without a Listener, and there can be no Listener without _you_."

Flicking my wand, the casket opened, revealing a woman's desiccated corpse bound with ropes; not hesitating, I incanted, " _Incendio!_ " The corpse caught fire easily, parts of it visibly withering into dust just before I delivered the coup-de-grace, " _Bombarda!_ "

The Night Mother's burning casket flew through the stained glass window and into the pool of water in the Sanctuary's main room with a deafening _boom!_ Farkas and Scales, who'd been setting the deeper portions of the place to the torch, jumped and squawked at the noise.

"Fuck's sake, Hermione!" roared the Companion as Scales chittered in annoyance.

Blushing, I quickly apologized, "Sorry, guys!"

 **. . . . .  
17th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
The Soul Cairn**  
 **. . . . .**

"Well…That was informative," chirped Serana as she and Drevas began strolling away from Valerica's redoubt.

Drevas didn't respond, at first; when he did, there was a groan in his tone, "Understatement of the Era, Serana. Fucking _hells_ , this is going to be harder than I thought."

The vampire walking next to him raised an eyebrow, "You mean it wasn't a difficult situation to begin with?"

The Dark Elf threw his hands up in exasperation, surprising the Daughter of Coldharbour, "Yes! I figured it would be a matter of unsummoning her through a ritual invoking the Nine, or doing some shite for Meridia or Azura in exchange for a favor! This whole shite with a device that manipulates _time itself_?!" He made a disgusted noise and looked up at the sky before shrugging, "At least I'm not soul-trapped anymore."

Serana didn't really know what to say to that, so she went with encouragement, "I'm sure you'll figure something out; and, hey! At least you'll have some good news for your apprentice when we get back."

The old Dunmer sighed and nodded, before asking, "Serana, be straight with me: does Hermione hate me?"

"What?!" her eyes widened in surprise, wondering where this came from, "Of course not! She thinks you're kind of a jerk, and, well, you _are_ ; but I already explained to her that it's not your fault. You can't help that there's stupid people everywhere."

"Sorry, it's just…If I was her age, I'd probably hate me for throwing me at bandits and shite."

"Calm down, Drevas," soothed Serana, "She's got help."

He nodded, and they kept walking toward the horizon and the exit to the Soul Cairn.

They didn't make it very far, as a huge summoning sphere appeared on the road before them, disgorging a regenerated Durnehviir.

Both adventurers were quick to prepare for a possible round two: Drevas' right hand flew to _Starfall_ , his left prepping an Ebonyflesh and readying his Fire Breath Shout with a snarl while Serana hissed, fingers twitching and becoming coated in crimson energy that smelled strongly of freshly spilt blood.

Instead of attacking, however, the undead dragon spoke in a placating tone, " **Stay your weapons. I would speak with you, _Qahnaarin_**."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N:**

 ***Baked glares at an empty aspirin bottle***

 **This chapter was a real bloody headache to write, seeing as it's mostly filler as I build up for the Forgotten Vale.**

 **The pacing of this story, therefore, is no accident.**

 **Yeah, Hermione took on the draugr, has Masterwork armor and a kickass crossbow. She's still human, if a human that barely remembers her life and is being effected by dragon-blood in her veins.**

 **The whole Dark Brotherhood questline in Skyrim was…disappointing, to say the least. Die, Astrid, die!**

 **Stupid headache. I'm off to work.**

 **Stay tuned for more!**

 **~Baked**

Next time: Hermione becomes a local hero, and Drevas returns


	9. Chapter 8: The Wolf of Falkreath

**Mercer Frey stole the disclaimer; I think he left it in chapter one.**

 **Who gets an update? _You_ get an update! On with the show!**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
Chapter 8  
The Wolf of Falkreath  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .  
21st Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Dead Man's Drink, Town of Falkreath  
. . . . .**

 _Lydia,_

 _Yes, I'm not dead; sorry this took so long, but I've been super busy; I've got to leave in a few minutes actually, so I'll keep it to the bare details._

 _It turns out that Jarl Siddgeir_ isn't _in charge of land sales. As a matter of fact, the arse doesn't really do much save keep his chair warm and make his Steward's life hell. Speaking of which, please tell Mr. Proventus he's got it easy, what with Ms. Irileth and Master Drevas there to deal with problems; Falkreath has been one hair-raising adventure after another, hence why this letter took so long to write. Sorry again!_

 _Did I say adventures? I meant bandits._ A lot _of bandits. Seriously Lydia, if you ever feel the need to get some stress relief, exercise, or just hit something, come down here; you can't throw a rock outside Falkreath Proper without hitting one of the amoral s'wits. Just in the past few days, Farkas and I had to clear out_ two _forts that had bandits holed up inside; the first one wasn't anything special, more a skirmish than anything, though Farkas needed a new left bracer and some serious healing afterward (war-hammers are bad for your health, haha). Speaking of which, I have three new swear words for your competition with Ysolda. I'll tell you them once I get back, in case this letter gets intercepted._

 _The second fort was better defended, so we asked the Hold Steward, Nenya, if she could spare some extra muscle. We got our request fast-tracked for approval, but… well, just tell Irileth she's doing a_ much _better job training Whiterun's guardsmen than whoever's in charge down here. Six went out with us, only two came back; though the bandit's wizard summoning a bloody_ Ogrim Titan _in an enclosed space probably had something to do with it. By the way, aside from Scales, I now hate daedra almost as much as Falmer._

 _Anyway, the land sale: the Jarl_ really _didn't want to sell to us, mostly because I'm underage and Farkas is a werewolf; then his Steward, bless her heart, informed the ice-brain of our growing popularity amongst the people, and he finally had to cave. Seeing as I don't have the cash on me to buy the plot, mostly due to armor upkeep, replacing bolts, food and lodgings, I've enclosed a copy of the deed, bill of sale, and a list of some reputable purveyors of building materials and labor to save you time (and headaches). I'll get the originals into your hands in a week or so, but you can send the payment through the usual courier service, care of Steward Nenya of Falkreath (because Divines know what the_ Jarl _would do with that money)._

 _Farkas and I are going to clear out a nearby barrow, Shriekwind Bastion; it's pretty large, but it's also the last immediate threat to Falkreath Proper, so once we're done there we'll be on the road home._

 _Speaking of which, I've got to go. Give Lucia a hug from me before letting her read this letter; I don't care if Master wouldn't approve, she's my friend and I don't want her to worry needlessly! Please, Lydia?_

 _I'll see you in a week._

 _Hoping you're well and keeping busy,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S.: I can't wait to get home. You're a far better cook than the one working at the tavern here. Better at conversation, too._

Cancelling the Dictation Charm I'd placed on my quill, I gave the letter a once over before blotting it, casting a Drying Charm and sealed it with wax from the candle on the desk. This letter really was overdue, but, as I'd written, Farkas, Scales and I had been busy as bees lately.

Speaking of Farkas, I could hear him haggling with the innkeeper over the price of salted pork in the main room, and it sounded like he'd be wrapping things up in a few minutes. Tying the various letters together with a piece of string (after adding a few charms that would prevent anyone except Lydia from opening them), I turned my attention to getting the rest of my gear on.

Knocking the Dark Brotherhood's block off had been a boon once everything was said and done; the gear alone had given us enough credit with the town's blacksmith, Lod, that I was able to get two score Dwemer bolts to replenish what I'd used thus far (the downside of _Stormbringer_ being that its spells destroyed the bolts on impact) and Farkas was able to upgrade to a Dwemer greatsword (which I enchanted with a Hardening Charm and Cutting Curse). The coin and jewels, on the other hand…

Tightening the straps on my gauntlets, the glass and ebony gleaming with Reflect Spell and Hardening Charm enchantments, I considered my options for the unexpected windfall that came from raiding the Brotherhood's coffers, which still came out to seventy Septims after splitting the profits with Farkas; I didn't need a new axe, given that the ebony one I'd taken off that bandit in the Pale was enchanted with a hybrid Firestorm/Cutting Curse enchantment and was still in good nick. My armor was a Masterwork and unlikely to be _completely_ destroyed anytime soon, recent dings and nicks notwithstanding; plus, it'd taken five bloody hours to enchant the entire ensemble with Muffle and Quicken on the boots, Featherweight Charms with a Restoration and Magicka fortifier on the cuirass and greaves, Reflection and Hardeners on the clawed gauntlets, and a subtle Bubblehead Charm on the helm that I could turn on and off at will combining with a strong Resist Magic enchantment, just in case I ran into another mage.

The enchantments themselves took three hours, actually; it was getting them to interact with each other, the magics feeding into each other and spreading their effects throughout the armor using a runic array that made _Stormbringer_ look like a child's toy; just working out the formula without Serana present nearly had me banging my head against the workbench in Breezehome in frustration.

Maybe I'd hit the general goods store in Riverwood, get some wall hangings for when I got back…

' _Home…_ ' More and more, I was coming to think of Whiterun as my home rather than the vague swirls of color and murmurs that were my past before I came to this place, barring the disjointed memories of Harry and Ron, fond though they were. Whiterun was where I found the peace I'd craved since waking up in Blackreach, where I'd found friends in Lucia, Lydia, Sister Danica, and (to a lesser extent) Proventus and Irileth. It was where I'd learned about the magic of this world, where I'd learned to defend myself… where I'd met Serana. Where Master Drevas gave me my oaths. Where Farkas and I had met.

It was home… but it wasn't _home_. My home was in Harry's arms… wasn't it?

Picking up my helm and glaring at the griffin motif on the brow, the words of the adults in my life came back to me.

' _We do what we must, because our duty gives us no choice in the matter._ ' Serana…

Did I have a choice? Could I drop everything and go to the College of Winterhold, try finding a way home in their library and picking the brains of the most magically talented individuals in Skyrim? What even _was_ my duty, my place, in this awful and violent world?

' _Safeguard the helpless. Do no wrong._ ' Drevas…

Had he always followed his oath? A memory, of blood-red eyes and a sneering grin in a Dwemer ruin, came back to me. ' _If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead_.' What lengths had he gone to, so that he wouldn't be called an oath-breaker? Who _was_ Drevas of Mournhold? Did I even want to know? Could I live up to the oath he'd given me, keep myself from becoming a monster when a single word from my lips could burn villages and rend souls?

' _Are you sure you want this life?_ ' …Damn Farkas, making me question myself!

Because I knew the answer to that question, knew it while sitting shirtless in the Sanctuary as I avoided giving the Companion a straight answer so that I didn't seem weak.

I didn't want this.

But I had no choice. It was this, or sit around waiting for someone to do it for me; and while I was sitting around, bandits would rape and pillage, vampires would tear the world apart, and dragons would burn it all to ash. I may not like it, but it was what I had to do, the quickest way to gain the respect and reputation I needed to get the knowledge to find a way back home… to Harry.

' _You were right, Serana_ ,' I thought fondly as I donned my helm and tightened the chin-strap, ' _We do what we must… and when you get back, I'm going to tell you how I feel about you, because I must. Not the vampire, or the supplicant to Old Molag._ You.' Hopefully, Harry would understand when I saw him again, that I needed someone beside me, someone who could help me even as I helped them. That she was… well, a _she_ , didn't really factor in my mind. If I'd learned anything fighting bandits and other various threats in Falkreath's forests, it was that it didn't matter what you had between your legs; people were people, no matter where you were.

Unless you were a rapist pig, in which case you were lower than cow shite in my eyes.

I'd just gotten my weapon harnesses strapped in place when Farkas opened the door with an expectant look, "Ready, Hermione?"

"Yep!" grinned I, patting _Eclipse_ , my ebony axe, "Another day, another horde of draugr."

The hulking Nord chuckled and replied, "After the past few weeks, we needed this break."

I laughed at the idea of bowling draugr as a 'break', even if it was said jokingly, and if I still had any doubts about this path, I didn't give them voice.

In this world, on the path I'd chosen, there was no place for doubts.

 **. . . . .  
Midday, 23rd Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Whiterun City, Breezehome  
. . . . .**

Stepping into his house after kicking the dirt off his boots, Drevas doffed his helm and glanced about the room, "Hello, Lyd…" he paused, unsure of the sight before him.

Mostly because his Housecarl was standing on a chair, in her steel plate, dusting the top of his bookshelf and looking at him with wide eyes. Blinking, the aged Dunmer asked, "Is… um, this a bad moment, Lydia?"

"Not at all, my Thane; welcome home!" responded the dark-haired woman cheerily, stepping off the chair a _little_ too gingerly, adding to his vampire companion, "Serana, good to see you in one piece."

Flipping back her hood, Serana gave the woman a close-lipped smile, "Can't get rid of me that easily, Lydia."

Scoffing, mostly because he remembered the fight with Durnehviir, Drevas plopped his helm on the table and started removing his armor while glancing around and observing, "Hermione's not here."

"No, my Thane," and there was the all-business Lydia he was used to. Maybe she needed to get out of the house more? "She's down in Falkreath at the moment, but should be back here by Morndas, at the latest."

Ignoring Serana's quiet mewl of disappointment, the Thane of Whiterun paused in removing his cuirass and fixed Lydia with his patented 'There Better Not Be Bullshit Afoot' stare, "And just what is Hermione doing in _Falkreath_?" Drevas didn't like that particular Hold for several reasons: bears, bandits, draugr raiding parties, leftover daedra from the Oblivion Crisis, as well as the fact that, even after four Eras of more-or-less constant occupation, there were still parts of the forest that hadn't been mapped or explored in detail. Some of the stories he'd heard in Bruma's tavern years ago, of unspeakable abominations that hid in Falkreath's darkest reaches, still made him shudder with revulsion.

As for Lydia, she blinked several times before answering, "Sorry, my Thane. I'm a… a _little_ hungover from last night." ' _More like you got fucked silly by some stud and still can't think or walk straight_.' "A few days after you left, Jarl Siddgeir asked for your assistance in dealing with some issue in his Hold. He offered a plot of land, and, well, you _did_ say you wanted more space in your base of operations, my Thane; I have the plans for a manor house here, actually," and she bustled over to her desk while Serana clucked her tongue.

Glancing at the vampire, she explained, "She has a point, actually. With three girls and you living in this small house, plus the amount of salvage and valuables our line of work brings in…" she shrugged while Drevas rolled his eyes.

"Not everyone can have a bloody _castle_ as a house, Serana." The bloodsucking corpse-humper just grinned at him. ' _One of these fucking days…_ '

"Lydia," called Drevas when it became apparent the woman was taking her time finding the manor plans, "Has my apprentice sent any word, or have you been slacking off this whole time?" He wasn't actually accusing her, just trying to get her mind out of the gutter and into gear.

From her spluttering, which lasted longer than normal, he guessed she had a _very_ good time with no one in the house, "O-Of course not, my Thane! Hermione just sent a letter saying she's had quite a lot of success in keeping the banditry around Falkreath Proper down; Farkas of the Companions is with her," she produced a folded letter from the messy pile on her desk and brought it over to him, "as well as Scales. She's in good spirits, my Thane, if a bit homesick."

Plucking the letter from her hands, Drevas swiftly read over what was written before commenting with a smile, "She really doesn't have a filter, does she? You've got people on building the house?"

Nodding, Lydia added a _little_ too happily, "A greenhouse, Alchemy tower, and library, with a goodly-sized main house and atrium, my Thane. At a discount, too; I know a guy," she added at his quirked eyebrow.

Serana all but snatched the letter from his hands before devouring the words with her eyes; Drevas could've _sworn_ the vampire had admitted to liking Hermione only as a friend during their brief argument (which was more him venting his frustrations) back in the Soul Cairn, but the closer they'd gotten to Whiterun, the more Serana had wanted to hurry them along… except when they stopped in the Reach to remind the Forsworn what happens when they shoot arrows at passerby. ' _Either she was lying to me, lying to herself, or she's actually clueless…_ ' the old Dunmer mused as he watched Serana's face for reactions.

Then, the vampire's eyes narrowed, "Shriekwind… Drevas," her tone was as serious as ever, with a tinge of worry; what she said next explained it, "My _father_ dispatched a couple agents to that barrow to keep an eye on Falkreath."

Icy dread dripping down his spine, Drevas' snapped his steely gaze back to Lydia, who'd gone pale, "When did you get this letter?"

"Yesterday morning, my Thane. It came by carrier pigeon."

Nodding, the Dragonborn threw his gauntlets back on and Serana ran for the stairs, calling, "I'll grab you some arrows!" as she vanished. As he re-tightened his armor's straps with a snarl, Drevas turned to Lydia, "Let Jarl Balgruuf know that I'll be back in three days, at least, and I'm taking two of his horses," his Housecarl nodded seriously, finally sobering up. ' _As good a time as any to address this_ ,' "Oh, and Lydia?"

"Yes, my Thane?"

"If you _ever_ fuck one of your 'rides' up against my bookshelf again, I'll shave you bald and make you sleep in the garden out back for a _month_. Are we clear?"

His steel tone and hard eyes made the threat all the more real, if Lydia's blanched face and gaping mouth were anything to go by; Serana descended the stairs and tossed two bundles of ebony arrows at him before the vampire turned an unimpressed gaze on Lydia, "Just be grateful I don't plan on telling Hermione about this. You know how she gets about mistreating books."

Caught outright, the Nord Housecarl sighed in defeat, "Yes, my Thane. It… the heat of the moment, you know?"

"Don't care or want to know what you get up to in your spare time," he dismissed as he loaded the arrows into the Toolbox and all but threw his helm back on, "Just keep it to your room and we won't have any problems. See you soon."

And they were out the door, booking it for the open gates and the city's stable; all the while, only one thought went through Drevas' mind.

' _If she's dead, Harkon, **I'll make you**_ **beg for Boethiah's wrath**.'

 **. . . . .  
Evening, 23rd Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Falkreath Hold, Shriekwind Bastion, Top Floor  
. . . . .**

My axe sliced through another Death Hound's skull, its claws skittering off my cuirass as it fell; but, as I'd come to realize, I wouldn't have a chance to breathe. ' _We should've brought back-up_ ,' I thought as an ancient arrow thwacked off my left pauldron.

" _Reducto!_ " the purple-eyed (as opposed to ghostly blue) possessed draugr was blown in half while Scales leapt through my field of vision, a vampiric shriek of horror cut off by the sounds of tearing armor and the crunch of bone; deeper in the crypt, I saw Farkas literally disarm one undead guardian, duck an axe-blow from another, then cut them both down with a spinning strike before ducking behind a pillar, just as I did, as another four draugr under the command of a greatsword-wielding Deathlord sent a volley of arrows and spells our way.

It had been like this since entering the barrow this morning; at first glance, the draugr using pickaxes and war-hammers to break up boulders hadn't been _too_ worrying. Farkas and I had figured the Lord of this barrow was trying to reopen some blocked parts of the crypt in order to bolster its ranks.

Then we started running across bandits. Most we'd run into in the lower levels were grunts with the occasional mage overseeing the draugr's work, and, between the three of us, didn't cause much resistance.

After going up three levels, and coming across the better kept parts of this place, we started seeing vampires with Death Hounds, giant spiders with glowing red eyes, and permanently summoned atronachs. At that point, we realized something was definitely wrong here, so I Stunned the next bandit we came across for interrogation.

"I ain't tellin you _shit_ , fetcher!" the stupid leather-clad Dunmer spat from where he was tied against a pillar; I ignored his insults as I downed a stamina restorative. We'd been fighting for two hours straight at this point, and I was honestly more than a little tired and hacked-off; not to mention dinged up. I'd just gotten my armor re-finished, too!

Farkas sneered at the s'wit; we'd flipped a drake to decide who got to plumb the dumbass for information, and if the stiffness in his shoulders was any indication, the bulky Nord was just as furious as I was to find a den of vampires and bandits _working together_. "You say that," drawled the Wolf, pulling an ebony dagger from his boot, the sounds of Scales crunching on a Death Hound in the background making the scene even more sinister.

Ten minutes and a three-second _Crucio_ later, the idiot finally caved: the leader of Falkreath's bandit contingent was in the cave, and was working with some bloodsucker who'd, apparently, been lending bodies and daedra in exchange for information on the going-ons in the Hold. By the time the Companion slit the fucker's throat, not only did we now know that Shriekwind was the base of operations for a wide-ranging organization of banditry, but we had two names, both of which we knew.

The vampire went by Klaus. Klaus _Volkihar_. One of Serana's… _cousins._

And the bandit leader? Farkas apparently knew of him, if his animalistic snarl on hearing the name was anything to go by.

Sinding, the Wolf of Falkreath. A rouge Werewolf who was into… _younger_ … prey, and had slipped past Hold guards and Thanes alike for the five years he'd been at large. Just the thought of what we might find deeper in made my stomach turn, death rattles and deep red blood in the snow flashing through my thoughts.

We didn't have time to discuss a detailed plan of action, however, as a fucking _Hunger_ had come tearing into the room just seconds after the bandit died. Once we'd felled the filthy thing, all three of us agreed on the simplest plan for situations like this: kill everything with extreme prejudice.

Loading a bolt into my bow with a snarl and setting it to Lightning Helix, I reflected on just how difficult this half-baked plan was turning out; we'd killed dozens of draugr, Hounds, bandits and vampires just on the last three levels of this barrow, and they'd fought us for every inch. The only consolation we had at this point was that the way we came was the only way out; it wasn't us trapped in here with them.

 _They_ were trapped in here with _us_.

"Scales! _Kill that Deathlord!_ " I shrieked before firing around my cover, hitting the middle draugr and killing both its neighbors as a blood-red Scales shot past me, running low to the ground as Farkas threw a knife at said draugr Lord to distract it before charging at the remaining corpse. Seconds later, the hallway was clear; at the hall's end, an ornate door stood closed.

" ** _Laas Yah!_** " I whispered breathlessly; six hours in armor, fighting a legion of undead and worse, and it _still_ wasn't over, "Four contacts," I reported to my equally exhausted allies, "one smaller than… _oh fuck_."

Farkas didn't have time to ask why I said that, as the door banged open…

 _Revealing a Dragon Priest_ , whirling arcs of silver lightning covering its floating form, its desiccated face curled into a permanent sneer as it leveled its staff in Farkas' direction.

" _Protego!_ " the fireball cracked my Shield Charm, but thankfully didn't break it; Scales let out a furious scream and moved to flank the undead horror. I dropped my Shield and readied my wand as the creature turned toward Scales, "GET BACK!"

The clannfear alpha obeyed, nimbly leaping aside as another fireball missed him by inches.

" _BOMBARDA MAXIMA!_ "

 **THOOM!** Dragon Priest, ornate door, and part of the surrounding wall were shredded by the Siege-Grade spell, debris showering the interior of the throne room beyond.

Silence fell, only broken by my haggard breathing and the slight ringing in our ears; Gods, I was tired. Farkas' quiet voice next to me broke the silence, " _Fucking shit_ , Hermione."

"Don't ask for another of those," I growled, holstering my wand and reloading my crossbow, changing the setting back to Reducto, "I'm nearly spent, and both you and Scales look ready to drop as well."

Grunting, the Companion took point, "Let's finish this, then." Scales prowled at my side as the three of us moved into the archway and took in the throne room's destruction.

It was a massive, domed room, stones the same swirl-covered sepia as the rest of the barrow. A circular dais in the center of the room held two thrones, side-by-side, while the outer edges were raised in a staircase-like amphitheater. The Dragon Priest's sarcophagus lay on the opposite side of the room, standing sarcophagi interspersed around the walls; the horror itself lay in pieces at our feet, its staff and armor shattered by my Siege-Engine Charm.

Just beyond it, a pale hand with sharpened nails was just visible from beneath the stone block that had crushed its owner, ' _Serves them right for standing too close_.' Other than that, there were only two other people in the room.

One was a pale, shirtless, blonde Nord with cold blue eyes the same color as Farkas', presumably Sinding. The other…

A young girl, maybe ten, naked except for a collar around her neck, her eyes empty of emotion… and the _same color as the other two Weres_.

My blood boiled with **fury**. _This bastard needed to die_.

"So the Companions have found me at last," Sinding drawled, his cold gaze locked on Farkas as the girl's vacant stare flicked between Scales and I, "Years of work and careful preparation, undone in a day. How did you find me, _mutt_?"

"Didn't know you were here, milk-drinker," sneered Farkas, voice tinged with hate; I'd let him take the fuck-wit. Maybe I could Stun the girl, try and find her family… "One of your boys, though… he told us you were here. Needed some _encouragement_ first," the big Nord twitched his sword at Sinding for emphasis.

The other Wolf rolled his shoulders, smirking slightly, "I suppose it doesn't matter. I'll take great pleasure in sending your head back to your Harbinger," his eyes flicked to me, "right after showing your _little whore_ her proper place in the world."

" _Oblivion take you_ ," came my whispered snarl- _chack!_

Both Sinding and his girl shot in opposite directions, my bolt hitting one of the thrones and destroying it; the bastard cried, "Kill the daedra, capture the girl!" before his body rippled and bulged as he transformed.

My attention flew back to the girl… who had transformed into a Werewolf herself; in human form, she came up to my chest. Now she was the same height as me, her lupine jaws snarling as she _swiftly lunged forward-_

Right into Scales' charge. The clannfear alpha rammed his head into her chest, drawing a growl of anger from the Were as I swiftly reloaded and switched _Stormbringer_ to Paralyze, ignoring the sounds of two fully-grown Wolves trying their level-best to kill each other nearby.

The girl dodged Scales' follow-up claw strike before grabbing his fringe and slamming a fist into the side of his neck; he dropped like a sack of potatoes, hopefully knocked out. Right before she could finish him with a claw strike of her own, _chack_! I fired another bolt at her, missing her by inches. She ran at me again.

' _FUCK! Nothing for it!_ ' I thought furiously before letting loose with the first Shout I could think of, " ** _FUS RO!_** " The wave of force slammed into the Werewolf's slight form and tossed her across the room with a howl of frustration and pain; I used the moment to reload and briefly check on Farkas, right as the Companion, in his Werewolf form, dodged Sinding's clawstrike, grabbed the extended arm, and broke it with a vicious blow to the elbow. Clearly, Farkas' upbringing with the Companions was proving its worth; he'd grown up hunting with Werewolves before becoming one himself, and had no doubt trained to handle rouge Weres. The Wolf of Falkreath was clearly out of his league.

Sinding's scream of pain and disbelief was as satisfying as it was ear-ringing. Figuring Farkas had everything well in hand (or claw, in this case), I turned back to my rising opponent and loosed another bolt at her, hoping to end this without killing the girl. She dodged again, and this time I couldn't avoid her lightning-fast charge.

My back slammed into the rubble-strewn ground, _Stormbringer_ clattering to the side as the Wolf on top of me swung a fist at my face, which I blocked with my right forearm.

 _CRACK!_

 _Definitely_ not my best idea. Fighting through the searing pain of having my arm broken with the _sheer rage_ flowing through me, I shunted my emotions into my left hand and grabbed for lightning.

Her follow-up strike slammed across the left side of my head, breaking one of her fingers on my helm and rattling my teeth, but the pain of her break made her hesitate for a second; I grabbed her wrist and channeled as much magic as I could into the spell.

The Wolf's body convulsed as the overpowered lightning spell ground into her for the three-decade-long-seconds I held it for; bunching up my legs, I kicked out with all I had and sent her onto her back, forcing myself back to my feet and awkwardly drawing _Eclipse_ with my left hand, the ebony axe's enchantments flaring eagerly as I approached the wounded child-Werewolf with my broken right arm held to my chest.

A tearing sound and gurgling scream came from my left as Farkas tore Sinding's throat out with his teeth; the girl before me flinched at the sight of her captor's death before turning that dull blue gaze on me, slowly tensing for another attack.

I leveled my axe at her and said through teeth gritted with pain, "Give up. _Please_ , give up." She didn't move, but I could see primal fury building in those eyes of hers. My voice shook as I begged, "Don't. Please, honey, _don't_ -"

 _She leapt at me with a feral shriek_.

 _I dodged around her claws and brought my axe up_.

 _The axe fell as her left paw swept at my face_.

 ** _Schick!_**

A line of white hot fire lashed through my lips and nicked the tip of my nose. I dropped my axe with a _clang_ and quickly slapped a hand full of golden light onto my face, sliding to my knees and healing the wound as fast as I could…

 _As my opponent slumped to the ground, a smoking valley running from her shoulder to her hip_.

The line through my lips went from my right jawline and ended at the top of my lip on the same side; luckily, the tip of my nose was just a scratch, but it _would_ scar, seeing as it was an injury dealt by a cursed creature. ' _That's… That's fine. I knew I'd get scars, in this line of work._ ' I started taking off my right gauntlet to heal my broken arm as the sounds of Farkas transforming back and his own pained grunts reached my ears.

 _But I was distracting myself, wasn't I?_

Dropping my gauntlet with a thump, I couldn't stop the wretched sob that escaped my chest, even as I channeled golden light into my arm. Farkas' thumping steps came close before he fell to one knee next to me, offering up a thick piece of leather that I saw through stinging eyes. "Bite."

I did, bracing myself. He grabbed my forearm at the wrist and elbow.

 _I deserve this_.

 _Crischck_!

It _hurt so much_ ; another wet gasp left my mouth as I looked at the ceiling, letting the leather strip fall from my mouth only to be replaced with the bitter taste of a healing potion. I almost felt cheated in my misery as the break went numb and sealed in the alchemical tincture's wake.

 _I DESERVED THAT PAIN!_

A squawk of shock came from Scales as he shook himself back in consciousness, the sound covering another of my sobs. Farkas' arms suddenly encircled me, pulling me tight to his body; he smelt of blood, wet dog, and weapon oil.

" _Let it out, Hermione_ ," his whispered growl opened the floodgates at last, and I wept for _so many things_.

 **. . . . .**

In this one's opinion, his Bonded's adopted kit needed some time off, or a mate.

She'd been through much, this last battle.

This one might not have been human, but he could feel her pain and grief.

So young. This one would feel she was too young for the work she was doing, but this one had been younger, when he'd first tasted flesh.

But still her grief and sorrow rolled off her body in a stifling miasma. She didn't know that her killing was a mercy, but she'd soon realize. This she was very smart, or so his Bonded thought.

So he nuzzled her side and crooned, as this one would for his own hatchlings. She took comfort from that, and the Favored of the Huntsman provided comfort closer to that of the mortal kin.

She would rise above even this, this one knew. She had such strength, like this one's Bonded.

Now, if only she would realize how badly she needed a mate… At least she had the vampire.

 **. . . . .**

It took Hermione a few minutes to calm down, upon which Farkas set her to the busywork of checking a side-room for valuables while he…

' _Fuck's sake_ ,' the young man thought as he looked at the female Wolf's corpse before covering her with a linen sheet he'd pulled off the wall. Early twenties he may have been, but right now Farkas felt as old as Kodlak… though that might have something to do with fighting his way through a _small army!_

Looking around for a distraction from seeing _another_ dead kid, he didn't see anything really worth taking. Then his gaze fell on Sinding; a disgusted snarl curled onto his face before he could stop it. ' _Good thing the others aren't here. But, shit, Kodlak's going to want answers. I know_ I _want some._ ' Then he saw it: a silver glint on Sinding's right pointer finger.

Stomping over, he lifted the dead Werewolf's claw up for a closer look; what he saw made him even more furious, his Inner Wolf howling along with his rage.

 _The Ring of Hircine_.

Farkas heard Hermione retch in the other room, so he called, "You okay, Herms?"

Around the sound of her spitting into a bucket and Scales trotting over to look in on her, she called back, " _Don't call me that! And y-yeah… just found a body pit in the back here. The vampire's meals, I think_." The sound of a fire spell igniting gave Farkas a small measure of closure… but _now_. He looked at the ring again.

Companion tradition said that if any Werewolf went rouge, the Companions would have to hunt them down at any cost; as for Weres who _weren't_ members of the Inner Circle… well, they were blessed by Hircine for a reason. So long as they kept their dining habits away from civilized areas and left the innocent alone, as Hircine himself dictated to the first Hunters, the Companions were willing to live and let live.

But Sinding had gone against those teachings, used his position as Hircine's Champion for his own selfishness; Farkas _really_ didn't want to think of what the bastard must have done to that girl Hermione put down, but now that he'd seen the Ring, this whole adventure made a whole lot more sense.

Not that he liked being a Daedric Prince's unknowing pawn, but if it made the world better, so be it.

Hermione walked back into the room, wiping her eyes and sniffing. Farkas dropped the hand, but she'd seen him staring as she asked, "Something wrong?"

Farkas grunted an affirmative before asking, "What do you know about Hircine?"

She flinched, glancing at the covered body before looking back at him, "He's… the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, Wilds, and Beasts. The various Were-creatures are people who have been blessed by him… or so I've read. Um," frowning, Hermione asked in a quieter voice, "why do you ask?"

He pointed at Sinding, "Because I've just killed his Shamed Champion. Also, Vilkas made me read a book about the Blessed of Hircine when I was younger, and it said that if a Champion becomes Shamed, the hunter who kills them has to… _skin their corpse,_ before leaving them to the scavengers."

"Morbid," Hermione rasped, glancing at Sinding's cooling body with an unreadable expression before asking blithely, "Need some help?" Scales chirped eagerly and trotted over as well.

It took less than five minutes to skin the dead Wolf of Falkreath, but when they were done…

Sinding's body suddenly crumbled to ash, while a golden glow surrounded the skin, warping it and twisting it over and over again until… a leather cuirass with a wolf's face on the chest fell at their feet. Farkas also noticed that it was designed with a _female_ in mind; he glanced at Hermione's face, which was an interesting blend of shock and disgust, "…I'll… uh, I'll just, erm, give this to Aela, if that's okay with you?"

Hermione and Scales both nodded quickly, the gir-no, Farkas mentally corrected himself, the _young woman_ adding in a strained tone, "Good idea. I, um, don't really feel comfortable _wearing_ _someone_ into battle… but… _why me_?"

The older Nord scoffed at her grieving tone, gesturing at the covered body nearby, "It's called the _Savior's Hide_ for a _reason_ , Hermione. This girl suffered, and you ended that suffering; she's in the Hunting Grounds, and Hircine's known for looking out for the young. She's in paradise now. _Sinding_ , on the other hand," he gave a dark chuckle, which drew a small smirk from his human partner and a rattling snarl of satisfaction from Scales, "Well… let's just say the Daedric Princes don't take kindly to those who abuse their gifts. His suffering _will_ be endless. Now let's bugger off back to the tavern; we all need a bath, and… that girl needs a pyre."

 **. . . . .  
Early Morning, 25th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Town of Falkreath  
. . . . .**

The first thing Drevas noticed, on arriving at Falkreath's north gate, was the platoon of guardsmen gathered around the back of the Jarl's longhouse. As he dismounted, he noticed their captain gesturing to the mountains to the northwest; looking that way, he saw the barrow that had made Serana and himself high-tail it down here as fast as they could.

Or as fast as _Delphine_ would let him, anyway; the naive Blade had all but dragged him into the basement on his arrival in Riverwood and proceeded to interrogate him for several minutes about… well, mostly it was her berating him for taking nearly four months to come back to her inn, never mind how busy he was.

Though it _was_ pretty funny how she didn't notice Serana had followed them until said vampire had asked about the Akaviri equipment hanging on the Breton's wall; well, it was funny until the paranoid bitch had suggested the Daughter of Coldharbour was actually a Thalmor deep-cover agent. Drevas blamed Serana's elven kit, himself.

" _Delphine_ ," he'd growled, cutting the Blade's tirade off at the knees before she said something that made her look even more like a fool, "I've been around Tamriel, and altogether _around_ , longer than you've been alive; I think I'd know if a vampire who's been sealed in a tomb for over a _thousand years_ was working for the goldskins."

The hard-faced woman, of course, wasn't convinced, "How do you even know? Did you check her story out-"

' _Azura grant me patience._ ' "I was _fucking **there**_ , Delphine!" Having successfully shut the woman up, Drevas had followed that up with, "Speaking of the racist bastards, have you made any headway in figuring out what the Thalmor know about dragons coming back?" He really hoped she had; once Harkon's head was on a spike, Alduin was next.

"Not yet, but I've got a way we can find out," ' _hold up, what's this 'we' stuff?!_ ' "I've got an in on the Midyear Celebration at the Thalmor Embassy north of Solitude. It was hard getting an invite, but I was able to get you in," ' _Sixteen Hells she_ didn't.' "A bit of hair dye and some makeup-"

" **Stop**."

The temperature in the room dropped while Drevas fought to keep his emotions under control. It would have been… _unfortunate_ , if he had to kill Delphine for her _utter stupidity_.

Not to mention her confusion wasn't blatantly obvious; how she was still alive boggled the old Dunmer's mind as she waspishly asked, "What? This is our best-"

He cut her off with a snarl, "It won't _fucking matter_ how much you disguise me, Delphine, seeing as the second they see I'm missing a chunk out of my ear, _they'll kill me on the spot_ , and that's if I'm _really_ lucky. I've… _met_ the First Ambassador before," and wasn't _that_ the biggest understatement of his life, "and she _will_ know who I am as soon as she sees me. If the Thalmor capture _you_ , that's the end of the Blades, just another sorrow to add to the shit-heap of the past two hundred years," Drevas scoffed, blood-red eyes boring into Delphine as he concluded bitterly, "They capture _me_ , you can kiss the Empire goodbye, because if I can't make them kill me, they'll make me talk, and I know things that would make you _run_ _screaming from this basement_."

The silence that followed was thankfully brief, as Serana remarked lightly from where she'd been examining an Alchemy setup, "He's right, you know; in the grand scheme of things, Drevas is the most valuable person in this room. Sending him into the wolf's den, especially when the person in charge knows who he is, would be a terrible idea."

Which had just made Delphine all the more frustrated, seeing as she didn't have any agents to go and sneak into the place to snoop about for information; in the end, Drevas told her he'd have a think, check up on some things, and get back to her. Before heading off to bed, however, Serana suggested just capturing a Thalmor Justiciar and interrogating them.

"I can't believe that never crossed her mind," Serana confided in him after they'd caught four hours rest and were saddling up in the middle of the night, "What kind of spy does she think she is?"

"No idea, but trust me, she needed that talking to," was all he'd said in reply, or for the entire ride down to Falkreath; his mind was more on his apprentice's well-being than thinking about Delphine's short-sightedness and cavalier attitude (though, if he was being honest with himself, the Breton woman reminded the Dunmer of himself… when he was a hundred or so years younger). On the bright side, at least she hadn't given the Thalmor his description; that would be… _unfortunate_.

Though, truth be told, he was surprised to find the roads clear of bandits all the way to the Town of Falkreath. Apparently Hermione, Farkas and Scales had been more effective at keeping a boot on the fetchers. He'd have to talk with Balgruuf and Proventus when he got back to Dragonsreach about reopening trade to the southern hold… no, the war was still on, even if the Empire and Stormcloaks were in a ceasefire, and that might send the wrong message.

Besides, he and Serana, who had all but leapt off her horse before sweeping her gaze around the town, hadn't ridden practically halfway across Skyrim for politics. They had a Hermione to find.

The guards noticed, as well, and one of them began cautiously approaching them. Drevas couldn't find it in himself to blame the guard for being wary; it's not every day you see a six-two Dunmer covered in Masterwork ebony plate ride into town with purpose and an Ayelid-clad vampire in tow. Still, the Nord greeted them warmly, "Good morning, ser. What brings you and your companion," glance at a hooded Serana, who was admiring the lumber mill, "to our humble town?"

Well! That was a better greeting than the one he'd got from Riften's guards. "Thane Drevas, out of Whiterun," the guard made a sound of realization, saluting and subtly glancing at _Starfall_ , "You wouldn't happen to know about a buck-toothed lass in glass armor, might have a Companion of Ysgramor following her around?"

The guard nodded, smiling beneath his scale helmet, "And a tough-as-nails clannfear?" Drevas nodded, feeling some of his anxiousness abate, "They came back from Shriekwind last night, Thane of Whiterun. According to the Jarl's Steward, the Wolf of Falkreath had threw in with those vampires that've been springing up all over. They were no match for the Hound and the Griffoness, though," the guard finished with a chuckle…

As Drevas tried to come to terms with the apparent fact that Hermione and this Farkas person had taken on a bandit/vampire/draugr stronghold and _survived_ ; clearing his throat he queried, "Do you know where they can be found?" hoping the answer wasn't the Temple.

The guardsman pointed past the lumber mill, "There're up by the falls; least, that's where Beirand saw them last. We're headed up to the barrow, ourselves," he gestured to the other guards, who Drevas noticed were hefting better-looking gear than most Hold guards he'd seen, "Jarl wants us to capture and fortify the place, make sure no bandits move back in."

Drevas nodded, removing his helm as relief filled him. Hermione was safe, and the bandit situation in Falkreath had _mostly_ been dealt with, "I'm sure Jarl Balgruuf will be pleased to hear his southern borders are safer than ever, guardsman. Good luck clearing the barrow; you know how to deal with draugr?" the man nodded confidently, and the Dragonborn returned it, "Then may the Gods watch over your battles," and he was striding in the direction the guard had told him his apprentice could be found in.

They'd just come into sight of the Temple when Serana whispered, "I can smell her!" and was about to tear off into a copse of trees when Drevas pulled her up.

" _Serana!_ " he hissed, making the woman stop mid-stride and look at him questioningly, "Remember what we talked about." She nodded seriously before continuing at a more sedate pace.

Then Scales came barreling out of a shrub and ran up to Drevas with a loud bark of greeting; grinning and patting his old friend on the beak, neither Dragonborn nor vampire were ready for the hulking Nord that came out of the trees, Wolf Armor looking like it'd had recent repairs and a Dwemer greatsword hanging off his back.

Blinking, Drevas suddenly grinned in recognition, "Farkas, yeah?" the Companion grunted affirmatively, glancing warily at Serana, who kept walking in the direction of the river, "My apprentice still have all her fingers and toes?"

The large Nord grunted again, adding in a more sophisticated mode of communication, "I'll need to have a word with you about some of the shit we ran into down here. Not here though; too many chances to get overheard."

' _Aaand I'm worried again_ ,' folding his arms and taking a second to appreciate that there was someone out there taller than he was, Drevas narrowed his eyes and kept his tone mild in asking, "Alright, we'll discuss that when we get back to Whiterun. Now," he smirked, making Farkas frown, "what's this about the Hound and the Griffoness?"

Watching the hulking Nord rub the back of his head and flush in embarrassment was well worth all the hullabaloo Drevas had put up with for the past month. As a happy plus, he could scratch "Make a Companion blush" off his bucket list.

 **. . . . .**

Serana knew what she'd said in the Soul Cairn, regarding the young witch that had fallen into Drevas' life and, by extension, her own; certain parts of her mind even told her that it couldn't work, there were too many differences.

Hermione was a fourteen or fifteen year-old girl, while Serana had been sealed in stasis when she was thirty-five. Sure, Serana didn't have many qualms about the age difference, given what she was, her personal preferences (sure, she was attracted to younger people, so what?), and the general culture of the land (Hermione _technically_ could go and get married if she wanted to), but that led into the next issue.

Serana was a vampire, a former devotee to Molag Bal, while Hermione seemed to have a great deal of respect for the Nine in general and Kyne in particular; additionally, it wouldn't be socially acceptable, for Hermione anyway, to be seen in a close relationship with her, their (hopefully) mutual feelings for each other notwithstanding.

There was also what they'd discovered, deep in the Soul Cairn, about the world she'd come from; that was the big clincher. The bushy-haired object of Serana's affections would, one day, leave and never return, Drevas would make sure of that. Given what she'd seen and heard, Serana wanted to help make sure Hermione got home safely as well; she was missed, had someone waiting for her. She didn't need Serana polluting her feelings; and so, the vampire had resolved to keep her distance and treat the young woman as a younger sister and colleague.

It didn't help her resolve, however, that all these things paled before a few facts that Serana knew were true: she was attracted, physically and emotionally, to Hermione, and the feeling was mutual if the girl's behavior was anything to go by; being separated from her for the better part of a month, she found while draining a (still fighting) Forsworn a few days ago, had only magnified her feelings.

A distant memory, of someone saying distance made the heart grow fonder, was _really_ making the idea of the coming conversation painful for Serana.

Stopping behind a tree, she took a moment to settle her emotions; she'd go out there, make some small talk, and if their relationship came up, she'd… she'd calmly explain the situation and let Hermione down gently. She was an intelligent lass, she'd understand.

Serana stepped around the tree, taking in the stones on the riverside; a glass and ebony helm was perched on one of said stones, a crossbow and weapon harness propped next to it, the rushing water of the nearby falls a nice touch in the foggy morning-

There she was, in full kit sans helmet, standing out on the water and frowning at her feet, chewing on her lip in a way that made the swirling flames that sustained Serana's unlife quiver in _want_. Her hair was still short, the bangs and wild spikes of brown straightened and slicked back with beeswax; were it not for her feminine features (and the fact that Serana had seen what was under that armor), a casual observer would pass Hermione Granger off as a young man.

She also apparently felt Serana's gaze on her, as she blinked and turned her head to face the vampire; her eyes were still that lovely shade of brown, but with the hard coldness of experience now glinting in them. There was also an almost-unnoticeable scar through her lips.

Then her face lit up in happiness, reminding Serana of the sunrise and making her own features morph into a grin as the target of her affections called "Serana!" and bounded over the stones to stand before the Daughter of Coldharbour, "You're back!"

"Well of course," smiled Serana, all of her doubts and reservations forgotten, "I _did_ promise," her smile fading, she reached toward the scar in Hermione's lips in concern; huffing, the girl intercepted Serana's questing hand and guided it to her cheek.

"Werewolf, in the barrow," Hermione reported, a sad smile on her lips, "It's a good thing lycanthropy is passed through blood, or I'd have a big reason to join the Companions," she finished with a small laugh as Serana simply enjoyed her presence and felt some of her worry abate at seeing the girl alive and _mostly_ unharmed. She'd have to have a chat with that Farkas fellow, later.

Sighing and running a thumb next to Hermione's lips, Serana commented, "Drevas should be able to remove that scar, not that it looks _bad_ , mind you, but… well… um," she felt heat rise to her face, at a loss to explain just how she felt to the young woman before her…

Who chuckled, stepping closer and laying her hands on Serana's breastplate as she looked into her eyes, "I'm okay Serana. I just missed you," and gave her _a soft kiss on the lips_.

It wasn't a lingering thing, or a heated snog; just a chaste pressing of her lips, a loving caress, and Hermione was pulling away with a bright blush and sunny smile, taking a stunned Serana's hand and guiding her over to the river's edge, shyly adding, "I've also wanted to do that for _weeks_."

Taking her seat across from the girl, Serana gulped and tried to begin, "Hermione… This, I don't even know how a relationship like this is supposed to work… I-"

Hermione placed a hand on her knee to stop her and patiently asked, "Then, could I try and explain, so you can understand?" Serana nodded, relieved; Hermione took a deep breath and said slowly, "The only real memories I have of my old life are of _Harry_ , but you knew that. He… he was my anchor, he kept me in check, and I did the same for him. Like him, you've been through a lot of pain in your life, but even though you _understand_ it, you shouldn't have to face that pain alone; so… I need that again, an anchor. Someone who's _there_ when I falter, someone who _understands_ …" she looked into Serana's eyes, a plead in those brown orbs that captivated the vampire so, "I need someone who'll pick me up if I fall down. I… I want that to be _you_ , Serana… because I'd do the same for you, if you ever falter."

In a whisper, Serana asked, "You… want _me_ to be the something you hold onto?" Hermione nodded, cheeks tinting pink, "And you want to be mine, even though I'm a blood drinking, immortal, undead abomination?"

Hermione frowned in disapproval, "You're not an abomination, Serana. You're just… _different_ , and yes," she smiled again while squeezing the vampire's knee, the fire in Serana's chest flickering softly at the sight, "I want to be yours. I know getting back home won't be easy, either, so… if I get hurt and it looks like… like I might not make it," she paused, briefly glancing in Drevas' direction before fixing Serana with a desperate gaze and whispering, "please… _turn me_."

The Daughter of Coldharbour let out a shuddering breath, the fire in her now an _inferno_ of wants and needs; still, she needed to be objective. Hermione, for all the experience she'd had down here in Falkreath- no. The girl had seen death, had nearly died herself in all probability; she knew what she was asking.

So Serana smiled and linked her fingers with Hermione's, "Hopefully… it won't come to that, honey; but if it does… well," she laughed, making Hermione frown in confusion, "Drevas and I promised your Potions Master that we would do whatever it took to send you safely home, and I don't break promises."

 _That_ took the younger Dragonborn by surprise, if her excited response was anything to go by, "My… My _Potions Master_? You spoke to someone from my world?!" She managed to keep her voice down, but she was now gripping Serana's right hand with both of hers, making the older woman laugh easily.

Nodding with a grin, Serana teased, "Ready for one doozy of a story, love?" Hermione nodded quickly, her face bright with hope, "Alright, but first…" Serana leaned forward.

Their second kiss lasted longer, Serana doing her best to convey the feelings of _care_ and _longing_ she felt with the intimate action, Hermione reciprocating _wonderfully_ , in the vampire's opinion.

Thirty seconds later, they broke apart, both breathing out and laughing softly as they pressed their foreheads together. "That was for catching me by surprise, 'Mione."

The younger girl slapped Serana's pauldron with a happy squeal and riposted, "Stop churning my butter and tell me what happened, Ana."

' _Oh **Divines** , I'm in so much trouble_,' was Serana's blushing thought at hearing Hermione's pet name; shaking all the happy thoughts away for the moment, she settled back onto her stone and told Hermione about Drevas' conversation with Severus Snape.

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N:**

 **Well… that took a little longer than I thought it would.**

 **You thought there wasn't going to be any SeranaXHermione going on, didn't you? *smirk* Keep in mind, dear readers, that not everything in this story is as cut-and-dry as it seems. There will be a few more twists and turns as we progress further, have no doubt.**

 **Hermione vs Dragon Priest(possessed by a vampire): Ordinarily, Hermione loses to the Priest, buuut, seeing as its being controlled remotely by something that doesn't completely understand how a Dragon Priest functions and is just using it as a deadly puppet, the siege-grade spell ripped it apart with the greatest of ease. Additionally, it wasn't a _masked_ Dragon Priest; if it had been, say, Krosis, that fight would've taken a whole chapter and, given Hermione's current experience, she would have either been killed or seriously maimed. Adding Scales and Farkas would lighten the load, but not by much; masked Priests are no joke, children. Adventure responsibly.**

 **The plot thickens… much like Hermione's butter XD**

 **Next update will take about as long as this one, but we're getting closer to the Vale, people! I can't wait for _those_ chapters! Two more, at least, before we get there.**

 **Thanks for reading everyone!**

 **~Baked**

Next Time: Drevas speaks with Severus, the Skyforge, and the Dawnguard


	10. Chapter 9: The Narrow Path

**…**

 **The disclaimer disclaims my claimage to any claims in Chapter 1.**

 **Thanks for being patient with me! Here's the latest chapter!**

 **Oh, and WARNING: mentions of suicide, non-Euclidian horror, and _this chapter is lemon-scented_.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
Chapter 9:  
The Narrow Path  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .  
Evening, July 6, 1994 CE  
Spinner's End, Cokeworth, English Midlands  
. . . . .**

Severus Snape was having a bad year.

To an outside observer, such as his well-mannered elderly neighbor Widow Bethany, this wouldn't seem much of a to-do, what with the man's seemingly constant scowl and less than cheery disposition making it appear as though he were bitter at the entire world by default; truly, even most students at the school he taught Potions (Chemistry to his Muggle neighbors) would agree: Professor Snape had a grudge with whoever made the Universe and was in a permanent sulk due to his powerlessness in filing a formal complaint against said higher power.

That didn't stop the kind Widow Bethany from welcoming the young lad home each summer with her famous wildberry pie and an offer for a friendly ear, should he need a chat.

Not that Severus, who was currently observing the final stages of a personally-modified version of The Draught of Peace come to fruition, ever felt the need to take her up on the offer. He preferred the solitude his chosen art brought him over human company, these days at least.

For some others, the losses they suffered in the previous war were merely physical in nature. For Severus Snape, it was as if all the light had been taken from the world, turning it a muddy grey. Though, such distant pains weren't why he was having a bad year.

No, those reasons were threefold, and all had names: Black, Lupin, and Potter.

Sighing as he was finally able to remove the Draught from its flame to begin bottling, Severus used the few moments of monotonous labor to look back on just _why_ he was feeling wretched this year.

First, _Black_ ; it wasn't enough that the irreverent rake of a mutt had escaped Azkaban, causing that empty-headed buffoon of a Minister to station _Dementors_ , of all things, around Hogwarts, but then the _utter bastard_ had gone and made everything worse with his sporadic break-ins, resulting in Severus himself having to brew more Calming Draughts than he ever had before in order to deal with overly-stressed and terrified students. Never mind that Black got cleared of all charges after the… _events_ … of a month ago came to light.

Severus didn't think he'd _ever_ seen that many Unspeakables in one place before, and he'd seen the aftermath of Bellatrix _really_ letting loose; Lucius' gazebo came to mind, along with a horrified shudder. Wood wasn't supposed to behave like that, magic be _damned_.

Then there was Lupin; oh, he needed Wolfsbane in order to teach DADA safely, Headmaster? Well, let me just drop _everything_ I'm working on so I can brew one of the most expensive and complex potions on the _planet_ so your cockamamie _plan_ comes to fruition! Honestly, Severus didn't know who he was more furious with, Lupin or Dumbledore, but it was easier to pin the blame on Lupin for reducing the sallow-faced Potion Master's ingredient stocks to the point where he actually had to go out and collect some of the rarer ingredients himself. Oh, and of course he'd had to pay for it all out of pocket, with the bonus in his paycheck barely able to cover even _half_ the costs!

At least the man had the good decency to get badly concussed at the end of the year, sparing Severus to have to deal with a rouge Werewolf on top of _everything else_ that happened that night… and the events of two days later…

 _Potter_ …

Corking and storing the last of the modified potion, which he called the Philter of Contemplation, a combination of the Wit-Sharpening Solution and Draught of Peace, Severus sighed grumpily, remembering Potter's eyes when the Headmaster told him that both Miss Granger and Pettigrew were likely dead.

According to the investigating Unspeakables, a Time-Turner being made into a Portkey had only been done once before; interestingly enough, that person had been an Unspeakable who'd been in a "sticky situation" and had to make a quick escape. The incident in question occurred nearly two hundred years ago, about a decade after Time-Turners had been invented.

The Unspeakable's horrifically mutilated corpse turned up three days later in the middle of a stone circle near York. Whatever killed him hadn't been quick or merciful.

Despite this, Potter and Weasley vehemently refused to believe Granger was dead without a body; Severus, despite his distaste for everything _Potter_ , had found himself grudgingly agreeing with them, mostly based on his observations of the trio over the past year. The bookish Muggleborn had all but killed her two male friends in a training regimen that would've made any fresh Auror recruit pale in fear and Mad-Eye Moody giggle with glee, crazy bastard that he was; even with a Time-Turner, both himself and Minerva were additionally surprised when Granger's tests placed her not just at the top of her year, but _third_ in the whole school, edged out, if only just, by the Weasley Head Boy and Cedric Diggory. The lass was tough, Severus gave her that, so he figured she'd survive whatever killed the unfortunate Unspeakable.

Then Albus, the utter _bastard_ , called himself, Minerva, Potter and Weasley to his office and showed them Hogwarts' Book of Enrolment.

Hermione Granger's name had been magically erased, which only happened when a student died before they took their OWLs.

Severus thought he knew everything about grief; Minerva crying into his shoulder was, while mortifying, expected, as was Weasley's despairing rage… but to see the light in Potter's eyes nearly go out at the sight (or lack thereof) of his love's name…

He shouldn't have been surprised when, the next day, instead of enjoying a glass of scotch while the horde of brats made their way to London, he'd had to assist Poppy in bringing the boy back from the edge after Potter slashed his wrists in the Quidditch showers. Rolanda Hooch, who'd been making sure everything was tip-top in her domain before starting her own vacation, had been the one to find him.

Personally, Severus had, at first, been _furious_ ; Lily didn't die so the brat could go and _top himself_ over some girl, especially when there were _literally dozens_ of witches (and wizards) who'd throw themselves at the brat for the asking! Merlin knew he'd have to break up enough attempts by various older students at starting a coven for the boy in the past three years!

Granted, Potter and Granger, from his and Minerva's observations, had been quite serious about their budding relationship; so serious, in fact, that there was little doubt in the Deputy Headmistress' mind that the two would be married right out of Hogwarts, if not in the first three years following, and had put in a sizable bet with the Terror Twins to such effect. That didn't excuse Potter's suicide attempt, however, not in Severus' eyes; he could have gone his entire _life_ without seeing the distraught expression on Minerva's face at the news.

Two days later, after countless attempts by just about every member of the staff (seeing as _Black_ was likely to spend the next six months in St Mungo's for long-term Dementor exposure) in getting Potter to break his melancholic silence, the truth had come out in full: Granger, in Potter's mind, represented _freedom_. From those blasted Muggles he'd lived with, mostly, but also from the expectations placed on him as the Boy-Who-Lived, the events surrounding Quirrel and the Chamber not helping the boy's mental state in the slightest; according to the grieving boy, their relationship hadn't had any demanding expectations, beyond Granger's reasonable, in Severus' eyes, insistence Potter get the best grades he could and a well-paying job upon graduation. Despite this, Potter couldn't see his future without the bushy-haired Muggleborn in it; when she'd been petrified, there'd been hope. Now…

Well, _now_ , nearly a month after one of the worst days of his life (and that was saying something), Severus brought the case of specially-made potions out of his lab and into his sitting room, glancing at his sofa and its sleeping… _occupant_.

Glasses slightly askew, _Advanced Potions and Brewing_ resting open on his polo-clad chest, one leg on an armrest with the other on the floor next to an advanced Magical Theory book, formerly tanned face slightly pale, Severus would've thought the boy dead ( _again_ ) were it not for the rise and fall of his chest; a thin, white scar marred the inside of his left arm, starting at his wrist and ending halfway up his arm. His right arm, with the hand resting on the Potions text, had a matching scar, though Severus couldn't see it due to the angle.

Grumbling and walking to his front door, placing the case next to it and making a mental reminder to take Potter along when he made the delivery to Gringotts' Curse-Breaker Department tomorrow, Severus _still_ couldn't believe Albus had convinced him to take the boy in for the summer months.

Though, the fact that the boy literally had _nowhere else_ he could go, what with the Weasleys dealing with their youngest son's own depression and Potter's Muggle 'relatives' hardly fit for dealing with a suicidal teenager, Lupin's condition making the man hardly fit for being a caregiver and Black hospitalized, not to mention Albus invoking Lily's name and memory (a low blow if Severus ever heard one) had much to do with Severus agreeing, _very begrudgingly_ , to put the boy up for two months in his small flat.

Three weeks.

Three _bloody_ weeks of Potter walking on eggshells around him and Severus carefully choosing his words so the brat didn't break down in sudden furious tears or worse, go dead-eyed and quiet for hours on end.

Three weeks of keeping the lad busy with Potions tutoring (a truer test of patience for them both, there wasn't), the odd practical Defense lesson (Potter was _much_ better than he was letting on, if now lacking confidence) and menial chores (Severus mentally blasted the Dursleys for treating the boy like a House-Elf, though his back garden _did_ look quite smashing these days).

Three weeks of trying to help this broken child recover, and all Severus could think, looking at the boy sleeping on his couch, was that he'd be best served by spending a year with an experienced Mind-Healer; but oh, _nooo_ , Albus couldn't have his _precious weapon's_ suicide attempt made publicly known, because that would just be _tragic_.

Suppressing an audible snarl and some of his _father's_ choicest obscenities at the Headmaster's irreverent manipulations, Severus strode to his crackling fireplace and picked up the bottle of expensive gin he kept for worse days or special occasions; a Yule gift from Fillius, it usually lasted from one Yule to the next, Samhain in a bad year. From what he could tell, though, the current level indicated it _might_ make it to September First if he paced himself.

Pouring two fingers into a handy glass, Severus re-corked and stowed the bottle behind a photo of his mother, the only one he had left after his _bastard father_ burned the rest. Letting his gaze wander, lest he dredge up too many unhappy memories, the former Death Eater found his eyes resting on the picture of Lily dancing in the snow, partially hidden behind his Mastery certificate and a photo of baby Draco.

The gin went down like water, despite its burning tang. Severus glanced over his shoulder as Potter grunted in his sleep, a frown appearing on the lad's face. ' _Another nightmare. Wonderful_ ,' he thought sarcastically, looking back at Lily's picture and smiling face, ' _I'll do what I can for your son, Lily, but… Merlin, I wish you were here for him_.'

He blinked, rubbing his searing eyes with his left hand; damn potion fumes. He'd have to check the ventilation charms again-

 _Pain_.

It felt like someone had rammed a white-hot rusty icepick through his left forearm, " _Gahhh…_ " if he hadn't been an Occlumens and used to such pain in _that_ area, Severus would've no doubt woken the whole neighborhood with a howl of pain as opposed to the quiet groan that left his lips. Setting the glass down before yanking up his sleeve, the man's heart nearly stopped in terror.

The Dark Mark. _It was vivid_ , black as the void and sizzling with potent magic. The pain seemed to be receding, though-

 ** _PAIN_**.

Or not. "Ah!" Falling to his knees with a _thump_ , two things went through Severus' mind: one, this was _half_ as bad as the Dark Lord's Cruciatus, and two, his Mark was _leaking magic_ ; painfully purple raw magic was flowing steadily out of it, reaching for his fingers as the pulses of pain came in a steady beat.

"Professor?" Whipping his head back around at the quiet voice, Severus found Potter halfway sitting up and looking at him with hesitant concern; a second later, the Mark started giving off a crackling _whine_ , the Potions Master feeling a _worryingly large_ amount of magic building up in his hand.

" _Potter! Get out!_ " But before the boy could do more than stand to give reality to his Professor's pained order as the man drew his wand-

 **BZZZ-SHAA!** The purple light shot out of Severus' hand, flying into the fireplace and tossing the man backwards into the coffee table next to the couch, banging Potter's shins as the tall man struck the heavy furniture with enough force to knock it into the boy's legs.

Blinking away the stars and ignoring the boy's swearing, Severus brought both eyes and wand to bear on the fireplace, whose flames had roared up as though a Floo connection had activated, though the flames were purple and black rather than green. Also, his Mark was still burning, though that was mitigated slightly by Severus raising his Occlumency shields to full bore.

It was then that a cultured female voice came out of the flames, sounding like it came from far off, " _I've got a connection! Serana!_ "

Another voice, also female, but younger, " _On it! I'll stabilize it while you open the Gate… in three…_ "

" _Boy_ ," hissed Severus to a shocked Potter, "Get upstairs, _now_."

" _Two_ …" the voice was getting closer!

Potter darted into the kitchen as Severus quickly got to his feet, wand trained on the roaring fireplace with a grim expression, searing left arm held to his chest.

" _One… Do it, Drevas!_ "

 ** _Koooom…_** With the sound of a distant avalanche, the flames parted, creating a circular doorway and revealing…

At first glance, Severus thought he was looking at the Dark Lord; bright, blood-red eyes narrowed in concentration, set in a sharp, ash-grey, noble face weathered by time and hardship. Short white hair covered his ash-skinned head, a pair of pointed ears arresting Severus' attention for a moment, before the being's attire sent a chill through him. Gleaming midnight armor trimmed with gold accents, a red lion painted over the heart, it covered the being from the neck down, clawed gauntlets pulsing with the same eldritch energy that had flowed through his Mark mere moments before. A _massive_ bell-ended mace hung from the being's waist, the attached belt sporting a strange color-coded brass dial on the opposite, left side.

The air in the doorway rippled for a moment before settling, the flames creating an arch around the… _'That voice, it called this a Gate… but from_ where?' Severus kept his wand aimed at the strange being, who had lowered his hands and was now inspecting the edges of this _Gate_ , even as confusion and not a little fear swept through him, ' _Is… did the Dark Lord already regain a body?_ '

Before Severus could worry himself further, the being spoke to someone out of sight in a hoarse growl, "How long do I have?"

The first woman's voice came through, tinged with mild strain, "We should be able to keep this up for a half hour, at best. Be swift, regardless."

Nodding, the (no doubt Dark) being turned those red eyes on Severus, glaring hard at the younger man and making him shiver; he'd seen that look before, on Albus' face when the ancient wizard was particularly angry about something. What this being's gaze held that Albus' didn't, however, was the promise of a painful, ignoble death if crossed; it was like being before both the Headmaster _and_ the Dark Lord.

Nevertheless, Severus quashed his fear through Occlumency and leveled his wand at the creature's face before snarling, " _Identify yourself, **now**_."

The being sneered, before flicking a golden coin through the Gate; it landed with a _clink_ in front of his fireplace. Nodding to itself, the being finally addressed him in a tone like steel unsheathed, "My name is Drevas, _fetcher_ , and _you're_ another servant of a certain _corpse-humping piece of shite_ that goes around putting magical leashes on people. Question is," it put a hand on the black hammer's haft, "do you serve him still?"

' _He's talking about the Dark Lord…_ Pettigrew.' Shaking his head, Severus lowered his wand _slightly_ ; he wasn't about to trust this violent-looking stranger enough to let his guard completely down, but he needed information, "No. He's been… _mostly_ dead for the last thirteen years," movement at the corner of his eye showed _Potter_ hadn't listened to his orders and was lurking at the kitchen's entryway, wand drawn; Severus ignored the boy and sneered back at the armored being, "Now for _my_ question: how do you know of him?"

This _Drevas_ shrugged, gaze softening slightly, "We figured it was a necromancer based on the spell pattern on _this_ ," and reached his left arm out of sight, picking something up and producing…

 _Pettigrew's severed arm_. Ice dripped down Severus' spine even as Drevas continued, "Granted, he was already dead when I found him, but that's not why I'm bothering you," and those red eyes looked Snape up and down, narrowing in a wariness that showed in the question, "Does the name 'Hermione Granger' ring any bells?"

" _Hermione?!_ " Severus mentally blasted Potter for being unable to hold his tongue while he gathered information from this strange being; as it was, the Potions Master simply glared at the desperate-faced boy, stopping him in his tracks before he made even _more_ a fool of himself. To Drevas he said evenly, "Yes. She's one of the students who attends Hogwarts; I am Severus Snape, the Potions instructor at said school."

Drevas nodded, face relaxing as he addressed one of the hidden beings, "Back in a flash," and he stepped through the Gate with a confident stride, while Severus' wand snapped up (Drevas was a good four inches taller in those boots than Severus, who was by no means short) to the Dark being's face and Potter made a small noise of shock; looking down at the dark haired wizard, Drevas calmly said, "You mind pointing your wand somewhere else? Or would you _prefer_ I rip off your arm before telling you of your wayward student?"

Narrowing his own eyes, Severus aimed his wand at an armored shoulder, the Killing Curse at the front of his mind; as much as he didn't like the boy, he wasn't about to leave Potter to the devices of what was _clearly_ some alien Dark Lord, "Before we go there, what _exactly_ are you?"

"Dunmer, or Dark Elf," Drevas grunted, glancing briefly at Potter, who was standing stock-still halfway between the kitchen and front door, watching human and Elf, wide eyes tinged with fear and a smidgen of hope, "Not that that'll mean anything to you," he quietly added before continuing in an easy tone, "One last question, Mr. Snape: do you know a… Harry Potter, by any chance?"

 _Of course_ , Potter doesn't give him a chance to respond, speaking quickly and hopefully, "That's me! Is Hermione okay?! Did you bring her with you?!"

"Easy lad," began Drevas while Severus ground his teeth quietly, but Potter was not to be deterred so easily.

" _Where is she?!_ " the stupid brat looked about to raise his wand!

" _Potter_! Be silent!" barked Snape harshly, making the brat flinch; sighing, Severus returned his gaze to find the Dunmer looking at them neutrally, "The lad's distress aside, however…"

"Right. In order of the boy's questions: she's as okay as she can be while suffering from amnesia, caused by a blow to her head," Severus winced while Potter paled, but Drevas was ruthless with his matter-of-fact tone, "No, she's not with me, as the place behind me isn't for _children_ ," he gave Potter a pointed look before finishing, "Finally, while I don't know _exactly_ where she is at the moment, I ensured she'd be in safe hands before leaving her at my house. On a lighter note… Harry," the boy, who'd been getting more despondent by the second, looked up at the now smiling Dark Elf, "She may not remember much of her life before coming to my world, but Hermione remembers _you_ , and she's working constantly to find her way back, as am I. Have faith."

The younger woman's voice spoke up cheerily from the other side of the Gate, "We're doing whatever we can to bring her back, Harry! I promise, she'll be back before you know it!" Drevas nodded in agreement.

Potter nodded, his expression brightening ever-so-slightly at these declarations, before asking quietly, "But… why… why isn't she-"

"Because I'm not in the world she's in, at the moment," the Dark Elf gestured behind himself, "That place is actually _between_ our worlds. Through that fire, there's no food, no water, no _life_. I had to sacrifice part of my own _soul_ just to enter the place. There's no way, in all the sixteen hells, I'm about to bring Hermione through there, and if _either_ of you took even one step through, you'd be dead in _seconds_. _But_ ," he continued, "if either of you can tell me how the _fuck_ she came to my world in the first place, I'm fairly certain I can find a way to bring her back to you."

Severus frowned at the being's language while looking into Drevas' expectant eyes, extending a gentle Legilimency probe, as he felt doubtful as to the Dark Elf's true intentions; after all, despite what he'd seen through the Gate, the strange being didn't seem like an accomplished wizard.

 _Granger, dressed in a leather and steel kit, hair cut brutally, scarring on her temple, standing over the corpse of a strange, green-skinned being in a snowy clearing, holding a crossbow in her shaking hands._

 _Granger again, hair still short but with a neater trim, obviously happy as she discussed something with a black-haired woman on the floor of a house, grinning as she gesticulated wildly to her nodding audience._

Before Severus could get any further, he _was yanked into the air by his neck_.

"Keep your mind magics to yourself, _s'wit_ ," spat the Dark Elf, eyes glowing dangerously, while Severus choked around the vice-like grip, wand falling from his hand as he grabbed at the offending gauntlet; with one last growl, Drevas effortlessly tossed him onto his couch.

Sighing exasperatedly, Potter pocketed his wand (' _Fool boy!_ ') and spoke to the Dunmer, "Sorry about my Professor, he doesn't trust easily," Severus didn't respond, as he was still trying to decide if his trachea had been crushed or not, "Um, the other guy, Pettigrew? You're sure he's dead?" at Drevas' swift nod, Potter went on in a hard tone, "He's the one who did it; Hermione was wearing a Time-Turner, and Pettigrew turned it into a Portkey after taking her hostage," the raven-haired Gryffindor's tone went pained at the end, "We… we thought she was dead… The only other person who did that, they were found dead, ripped apart…" Severus groaned internally, no doubt the boy was _still_ blaming himself for the events of a month ago.

Blinking, Drevas said evenly, "She damn near _did_ die, lad, but that's no fault of yours; blame the _s'wit_ who got her into that situation. Though… what in the name of _Akatosh_ is a _Time-Turner_? Or a Portkey, while we're at it?"

Having recovered slightly, Severus managed to reply, if in a furious and hoarse tone, "A Portkey is a spell that can be used on any mundane object; once activated, it will transport anyone touching it to another point in space. As for the Time-Turner, it is an artifact that allows the wearer to go back in time in pre-set increments; the one Granger was wearing, when turned once, would take her back in time by one hour. Is that all you needed, or do you feel like assaulting me more?"

Drevas, however, had gone stock-still, staring blankly at a point slightly to the left of Severus' head; after a moment of silence where Potter shifted uncomfortably, the Dark Elf finally said, in a flat tone, " _Time_. She…" He let out a frustrated snarl, running a hand through his hair, "Gods- _damn it_. Alright, I can work with that, but getting her home will take quite a bit longer than I thought it would initially."

"How long?" asked Potter, _nearly_ whining to Severus' ears.

It must have sounded similar to the Dark Elf, as he gave the boy an unimpressed look, " _I don't_ _know_. No one in _my_ world was ever _stupid_ enough to go messing around with _space-time_ magic; at least, no one who did so and _lived_. The last time that happened, it nearly broke the world."

"Drevas!" came the younger woman's voice beyond the Gate, which was starting to distort, "Time's up!"

Nodding curtly, Drevas tossed Pettigrew's arm onto Severus' coffee table, "You can keep that," then to Potter, "I'll give Hermione your love, lad," then he was through the Gate before either of them could respond.

Bare seconds later, the Gate closed, the flames taking on a red hue and returning to their normal height as the interdimensional spell ended with a low hiss.

For a few minutes, both boy and Professor simply stared at the fireplace; well, Potter did. Severus was looking between Pettigrew's severed arm and the bottle of gin on his mantle, wondering if he could postpone the report of this event to Dumbledore long enough to get truly plastered.

"Professor?" he looked over at Potter, who was standing there, pale and shaking slightly, "Hermione's going to be okay, right?"

Scoffing and struggling to his feet, Severus snarled, "Potter, if she's thrown in with a being like _that_ , I'd be more worried about what Granger will do to _you_ when she gets back and finds you tried to _off yourself_."

Potter nodded, a distant expression forming on his face, looking at the scars on his arms and murmuring, "Never again…"

"I should hope not," straightening his robes and rubbing his bruised neck, Severus looked at the pensive boy for a moment before snapping, "Well?! Go get washed up and lay out your good robes for tomorrow! We have a delivery to make… and… _Weasleys_ to visit." His sneer toward the end told the boy what Severus thought of _that_.

"Yes sir!" and Potter actually _smiled_ before rushing up the stairs to do just that.

' _The wonders a little hope can bring_ ,' Severus mused, shaking his head and deciding to wait until he dropped Potter off at the Burrow before informing Albus of this latest development; right now, he had an arm to Transfigure for safe transport… and a quarter bottle of gin to demolish.

 **. . . . .  
Afternoon, 28th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Breezehome, Whiterun City  
. . . . .**

' _Finally_ ,' I blissfully thought as I eased myself into the tub in Breezehome, a rapturous moan leaving my lips as the searing hot water caressed my aching body.

Three days. Three _long_ days, the first of which involved my kissing Serana for the first time and becoming reacquainted with Master Drevas after they'd been gone for nearly a month; honestly, their absence felt like _much_ longer; years, decades even. I'd missed them terribly, and had been daydreaming for several days of our happy reunion; no doubt there would be a feast, sitting around Breezehome and regaling each other of our adventures with happy tears and lots of drinking. However, the first thing Master said to me, after getting briefed on recent events by Farkas, was:

"What the _Nine_ did you do to that armor, girl?" While it was said jokingly, the horrors of Shriekwind were still fresh in my mind, hence my heated reply of:

"What in Molag's hairy stones did you do to your _face_ , old fart?" I didn't stop there, but I was _really_ hacked off, so most of what I said to him wasn't exactly… _nice_.

Luckily, Serana was able to keep me from Shouting my arse of a mentor into a pile of ash by asking me to show her around Falkreath Proper; as far as first dates go, it was… actually pleasant! No one got freaked out by the female vampire getting dragged from one shop to the next by the 'Griffoness of Whiterun', a moniker that I couldn't stand and had Serana giggling cutely every time someone brought it up, which was fairly often. Silly nomenclatures aside, I still got to watch Magnus set on a small hillock west of the town, sitting between Serana's thighs with her face in my hair, her arms wrapped around my shoulders while our hands got re-acquainted with each other, her fingers gently tracing new callouses on my palms as I took comfort in the strange warmth of her undeath beneath my fingertips; a blissful way to end our date, by any stretch of the imagination.

Once the day had, unfortunately, drawn to a close, Drevas took me aside and apologized for being insensitive; apparently, Farkas hadn't given him all the details behind Shriekwind. I apologized back… and then my fellow Dragonborn proceeded to tease Serana and I, all through dinner, about our new relationship, Farkas smirking in the wings behind his mug of mead.

 _Gods_ , for all he was annoying, but it was good to have Master Drevas back in my life. His strange sense of humor and irreverence for other's feelings aside, not only did I owe him my life, but I owed him my _survival_ in this mad world; so I took the teasing in stride and innocently asked Serana if she'd found him any lady-friends in their travels. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and it was worth the two-day forced march back to Whiterun just to see (and laugh at) Master's sour expression when Serana airily implied he'd gotten _quite_ well-acquainted with a female Briarheart on their way back. Farkas was still chuckling when we made camp the next night.

The news of my own world was a good bonus, the greatest prize I brought home from my adventures in Skyrim's southern forests.

Purring to myself, I ran a pumice stone over the stubble on my legs as I thought of both Serana and Drevas' impressions of one Severus Snape, who I could _barely_ remember beyond greasy hair and potions fumes, and… _Harry_.

What I wouldn't give to have him here with me, now; yes, _now,_ cleaning the dirt and grime of three days on the road and nearly a month of bathing in a _river_ from my nude body. And not just because I needed someone to wash my back! It was good to know he was safe, if worrying himself spare over me; hopefully, he wouldn't get himself hurt while I was away. That seemed to be a recurring theme in my nightmares of late, though why my Harry would jump onto the back of a runt _giant_ was beyond the ken of everyone in the party.

Speaking of going spare, Lucia's greeting on my return a few hours ago still brought a quiet laugh to my lips as I washed my hair.

"Hermione!" the young Priestess cried, darting down the steps next to the barracks as Drevas haggled with Mrs. Avenicci over the price of ebony arrows a few feet away; was she waiting around for me to come through the gate? I couldn't blame Lucy, honestly; she didn't have many friends. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back in one pi- _what happened to your face?!_ "

"Huh?" oh, right, new scar, "Oh! Haha," I rubbed the back of my head and grinned, trying not to think of how dinged up my armor was, "I sorta ran into a Werewolf; they got a lucky hit in toward the end. Honestly, I forgot it was there!"

My friend looked like she'd like to have a go at Drevas for a second, but managed to pull herself up and ask worryingly, "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want Sister Danica to have a look?"

"Probably later, Lucy; right now, I'd just like a nice _long_ bath, a home-cooked meal, and nap for a few days!" around our laughs, I commented offhandedly, "Falkreath was one wild adventure after another, I tell you; in fact, if you're free later?"

She nodded, bangs flopping into her bright eyes as she grinned, "Meet up by the Gildergreen before dinner?"

"Yeah, tomorrow might be better though," laughed I dryly, " _This_ lanky arse," I jerked my thumb at Drevas, who didn't notice, so deep in conversation with the local smith was he, "decided to force march us through the night; granted, there was a dragon roaring near Bleak Falls, but no worries. It buggered off west toward morning."

Huffing, Lucia gave her two drakes on that, "I _thought_ I heard something down south last night, but that _wench_ Braith didn't believe me. Good riddance! Better the Forsworn and bandits than us," sagely nods and vehement agreements were had by all before we bid our farewells, me to this nice, cozy tub, and Lucia back up to the Temple.

Drying myself with a quick spell and throwing on my robes, I levitated my weapons (still in their harnesses) and made my way back into Breezehome's cozy main room; Master Drevas and Lydia were having a quiet argument about something at the dining table, letters and maps spread out between them. Serana was already upstairs, having stated the desire to get out of her armor and into some nice, comfortable clothes; after having spent nearly a month swanning about in medium armor myself, I was in total agreement with my… girlfriend?

' _Huh. Harry's my boyfriend… Serana's my girlfriend… Is that even_ allowed _, having two significant others?_ ' I mused to myself, bringing up the memory of that book on social decorum that I'd read in… Blackreach; my thoughts were quickly derailed by those strangely distant memories. Gods, it felt like _years_ since waking up in that black pit, but it had only been a little more than a _month_. ' _Wow… I wonder how much my amnesia's changed me, compared to the person I was before. Should I be worried? Will Harry still love me, the person I'm becoming, when I get home?_ '

"You alright there, Hermione?" blinking, I became aware of my surroundings once more; I was standing at the foot of the stairs, Drevas and Lydia now looking at me in concern.

Shaking my head, I smiled at them, "Yeah, just… woolgathering," a brief pause, "Drevas?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy anniversary," grinned I; he raised an eyebrow, but then Lydia clapped her hands and smiled brightly.

"Oh, it's been a whole month already, hasn't it?" I nodded as Drevas' face brightened, though there was a little quirk in his lips, like he couldn't quite believe it either.

"Wow," the Dunmer said slowly, "So it has; Azura, it feels like it's been ages, hasn't it?" at my slow nod, he smiled without restraint, "We'll have to do something special tomorrow to celebrate, maybe take over Jorrvaskr for an evening," he finished with a mischievous grin that I quickly matched.

"Maybe Farkas'll help us," yawned I, starting up the stairs, "but right now, my bed's calling me. I'll see you both in the morning."

A "Sweet dreams, Hermione," from Lydia and a "Have fun," from Drevas followed me as I reached the upper landing; Lydia's door was still intact, if now with a small needlepoint message hanging in the middle of the door: **KNOCK FIRST**. I snorted at that before turning to the guest room, the slightly ajar door letting the blissful sound of Serana's humming a tune drift to my ears. Smiling, I strode to the door and pushed it wide.

She was sitting on the bed, running a comb through her hair, already in that oversized blue shirt she'd been wearing that first night here in Breezehome; setting my gear next to the door, I shut it and observed wryly, "Great minds think alike, I see."

Stopping her humming, Serana smiled back at me, "I don't sleep _much_ , being what I am, but… well, it's hard to explain."

Climbing onto the bed and taking the comb from my Serana, I pecked her lips and started running the implement through her silky hair for her, smiling all the while, "Try me."

Laughing as she sighed, my girlfriend obliged, "It was… difficult, growing up in a cult to Molag. I got into the habit of being a light sleeper; after… well, _after_ , I found I could go _weeks_ without sleeping. It's still a bit of a problem for me, actually, though," she laughed lightly, making something in me grow _warm_ , "taking a two thousand year nap _might_ have something to do with it," I chuckled softly, enjoying the feel of Serana's soft hair in my hands as she continued, "I didn't sleep at all that first month, mostly because I had a _lot_ of catching up to do, but also because I didn't feel safe amongst the Dawnguard."

"Those vampire hunters Drevas joined, yeah?"

"Mmm," Serana hummed contentedly, leaning a little closer as I continued my ministrations, "It's funny, actually… I can sleep just fine in moldy ruins and dank caves, or even out under the open sky, and the Sun is only mildly annoying… but," she looked at me, glowing eyes tender as they gazed into mine, "I haven't _ever_ slept peacefully, night or day, until you came along."

Setting the brush aside, feeling my whole body break out in goose-pimples at Serana's fond words, I reached up a hand and caressed her cheek, happy tears rimming my eyes as I replied in a loving whisper, "You chased my nightmares away, that first night; I don't know what I'd have done if not for you, _my Ana_."

I leaned up as Serana lowered her lips, chaste presses of our lips slowly becoming more heated, wanting; an arm wrapped around my waist as I moved to sit in her lap, straddling her thigh and wedging my knee in her groin, my hands tracing the natural lines of her face, committing them to memory: her distinguished cheekbones and slightly hollow cheeks, her straight, unbroken jaw, even the rims of her temples.

Her own warm hands ran through my hair, sending a delightful tingle across my scalp; Serana returned her left arm to my waist, holding me close, while her free hand caressed my features, mimicking my own ministrations which, if the soft, breathy moans against my lips were any indication, were greatly appreciated.

' _I could get used to this…_ '

I broke away briefly, partly to catch my breath and partly to look into her glowing, wanting eyes, fingers tracing her lips and running through her hair as a warm hand stroked the back of my neck and held me gently.

Serana's breathing was shallow and heated, flickering spiderwebs flushing across her pale features as she huskily spoke, "'Mione… are you-" I silenced her with another heated snog, drawing a mewl of pleasure from her. Encouraged, my left hand drifted from her chin, traced the hollow of her neck, to-

She caught my hand, breaking the kiss with a quiet laugh that was somehow both happy and _fearful_ ; confused and _a little_ hurt, I whispered, "What? I meant what I said, Ana!"

She cupped my face with one hand, still smiling as she shakily explained, "As did I. I'm… just afraid, I suppose. Your blood… it's like Drevas'… it smells _so good_ to me, when your heart beats like that; if we do this, I…" silvery tears welled at the edges of her eyes as she whispered, " _I don't want to hurt you, my 'Mione_."

Breathing in deeply to steady myself and letting it out in a huff, I decided to figure out a few things before we both started bawling, "Okay… okay… You, um, how is vampirism passed on?" sure, I was trying to distract us both, but I _needed to know_ , so I could figure out how to make my Ana feel better!

As it was, Serana blinked and shook her head, "It's a conscious decision, 'Mione; you can catch normal vampirism just from breathing the dust. I, on the other hand… I'd have to bite you, and… well, there's a gland in my gums, behind my fangs. If I work that gland…" she shrugged, averting her eyes, though her hands didn't leave my body. ' _Okay, so now I know how I'll be turned, if it ever comes to that… but…_ '

I nodded, assured, and asked with an edged voice, "But you control it, right?" at her hesitant nod, I grabbed her hair and made her meet my eyes, growling, "So what's the problem here, Ana?"

Gaping, she gently grasped my shoulders and implored, "I could still _bite you_ , Hermione!" ' _Ah. So that's what's wrong_.' "If-if I lose control of myself, for even a _second_ , you'd be _drained_ …"

"I trust you."

Serana sighed, shaking her head, "Mione, I _want to_ , so badly, but Drevas would _kill me_."

" _Serana_ ," she met my eyes again, glowing orbs tinged with slight fear, the ridiculous woman, " _I trust you_ ," caressing her face, I continued in a caring tone, "When's the last time you fed, love?"

The shiver that ran through her body as her eyes widened in realization nearly had me giggling in humor and arousal, the latter due to bringing such a reaction from my Ana; gulping and wetting her lips with a pink tongue, she replied in a dry-sounding voice, "Ah… um, a week ago, maybe? I-I-I can get Drevas to brew me a blood potion-"

"No." Ignoring the small voice in my mind that said this was a bad idea, I rolled up a sleeve on my robe, holding my right forearm up to my hungry-eyed and still hesitant girlfriend, "I'm here for you, just like you're here for me. Now drink."

That ample chest of hers, so familiar to me by now, heaved in combined desire and anxiety, the light scent of nightshade tingling my senses even as she gulped again, her whisper fearful, "What… _what if I can't stop_?"

I giggled, "Ana, I'm _Dovahkiin_. I'll just use a Shout on you… _now_ ," I breathed huskily, taking the back of my Ana's neck and guiding her in like a babe for nursing, " _Drink_ , _my Ana_."

Sliding a wet pink tongue over those soft lips, Serana opened her mouth hesitantly, baring those sharp, silvery fangs; she met my eyes one more time, silently asking for permission. I just smiled and applied more pressure to her neck; her eyes became lidded, taking hold of my arm at wrist and tricep to hold the limb steady.

Her mouth slowly closed over my wrist, fangs parting my skin with a gentle prickle of pain; I could feel them, a coldness that was at odds with the rest of her, as they entered a vein. A shudder ran through her, my Ana's eyes rolling as she moaned in sanguine pleasure at the feeling of fresh blood running over her teeth…

And she started drinking. " _Ah_ ," I gasped, feeling a numb coolness around her gently sucking lips, the chill making me break out in goose-pimples again and bringing my nipples to full hardness; I kept my eyes on hers, watching those glowing suns darkening from a pyrite gold to a deep copper, the change accompanied by that coolness touching my magic as I shunted some into my blood, mitigating how much blood I'd loose in this feeding by offering up my magic in succor.

It seemed to be enough, as after only a dozen or so seconds of feeding, Serana withdrew her fangs; dark red blood pooled in the two small punctures, overspill from the offered vein. A warmth that had been building in my nether regions turned into a wildfire as my Ana's searing hot tongue ran over the bloody dots; biting my lip to keep from keening in pleasure, I carefully wrapped the spot in a well-practiced Restoration pattern, the two spots healing over with thin skin, the pink bumps quickly deflating as Serana licked her bloody teeth with a lidded, satisfied expression, savoring my flavor like it was the finest wine.

Snatching my arm back suddenly, my poor, surprised Ana's eyes widened in confusion as I used that arm to push her onto her back, asking with a soft giggle, "Enjoy your meal, then?"

" _Hah…_ " she gasped, still coming back to herself, red spiderwebs crawling down her neck and _beyond_ , "Ahem… that… _oh Gods, 'Mione…_ that was _amazing_."

"Mmm, much better when it's given willingly, hmm?" purred I with a coy grin, moving my hips a little on her thigh as she smiled shyly back, "Well then, Ana, if you thought _that_ was satisfying…" I leaned down, brushing my lips over hers before moving to her ear…

" _Imagine how good it'll feel when_ I _take my meal from_ you." I wiggled my knee in her groin for emphasis, breathing a laugh in her ear as she shuddered in barely restrained _want_.

" _Oh 'Mione_ , you don't know what you're _doing_ to me," her voice was heady and unfocused, and a total lie; I knew _exactly_ what I was doing to her, having fantasized about this more than a few times in Falkreath. Good thing Farkas wasn't a heavy sleeper and preferred hunting at night to sleeping in our room, or he'd have gotten no sleep at all those weeks!

" _Oh, I don't_?" breathed I in mirthful challenge, sliding my right hand down toward those ample breasts and grinding my knee more firmly against her moistening sex, " _Shall I show you how much I_ don't _know_?"

I saw her bite her lip in lust, a purred non-question on the tip of her tongue, right before someone knocked on the door.

' ** _FUCK_** _! FUCKING PISS-BRAINED, BAD TIMED, THRICE DAMNED, NINE-FORSAKEN **ROOMMATES**!_' Serana's frustrated growl showed she was just as furious as I for having our moment interrupted; letting my forehead fall onto her shoulder with a _thump_ , I snapped irritably, " _Who is it?!_ "

"Your illustrious Master, my fledgling apprentice," great. He sounded like he was buzzed on ale again, "You two decent, or do I have to break out the Frost spells?"

Fighting down a few dozen curse words Farkas taught me, I propped myself up on an elbow, left hand holding my head up and lying lengthwise across Serana's right side, a bare leg straddling her thighs while my right hand settled for stroking her belly, which was unfortunately still clothed; getting with the idea, Serana began brushing her fingertips over the light stubble above my knee, her right hand resting on my hip, gently kneading part of my bum through my robes.

Satisfied with our respective positions, I called airily, "Come in, then!"

The door opened, revealing Drevas in burgundy finery trimmed with fur, a gold and ruby amulet around his neck and glittering rings on his fingers; he looked like he was going to some hoity-toity to-do, as Farkas would put it.

The look on his face was bloody _priceless_ as he took in Serana and my positions on the bed, red eyes blinking over and over again like he was trying to dispel the illusion before him; at least until Serana gave a demure giggle. Then he sighed, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms, "Why am I not surprised?"

Snorting lightly, Serana replied cheekily, "Don't blame me, Drevas; _she_ started it!"

Grinning and not taking my eyes of Master Drevas, I snarked, "I didn't hear you complaining… _much_ ," my mind howled with laughter as Drevas visibly shuddered, that ' _I'm not thinking about this right now_ ' look dominating his face.

" _I've created a monster_ ," Serana and I giggled at the older Dragonborn's whispered observation; shaking his head, he went back to being all business, "I'm heading down to the market to get some supplies, as we'll be leaving in four days' time; did either of you want anything, or would you two prefer some privacy to rut those days away?" the great ashskinned _arse_ finished with a grin of his own.

Serana hummed in thought beneath me as both older adventurers ignored my paint-stripping glare; actually… now that I thought about it, "Could I get a basic Alchemy set, Master? I've been looking forward to learning, you know."

He hummed, looking thoughtful, "I suppose… Arcadia should have some spare equipment lying about, and I've got a few recipes you can learn from. I'll get you some ingredients while I'm out, just make sure you open a window if you're going to brew." I nodded enthusiastically; yes! I was going to learn Alchemy! My scattered memories said it was the most difficult branch of magic to master, but when has that ever stopped me?

"I can show you a few things, too," my Ana put in from beneath me, much to my joy; more time spent with her! Jackpot! "Oh, and Drevas? Pick up some rings; I've got a few ideas I'd like to bounce off Hermione here, and… um, you don't have to make _as much_ Blood Potions as last time," she gave my bum a firm squeeze; turning a grin on her, I ran a finger down the center of her muscled abs. Oh, if only that shirt wasn't there!

Drevas, on the other hand, "You're using my apprentice as _cattle_?" he deadpanned with an angry undertone.

"No, Master, I _offered_ Serana my blood when I found she hadn't fed in a week," I slapped her stomach lightly, chiding my Ana for neglecting her health; after she ' _eep!_ '-ed at the action, I turned my attention back to Drevas, "Also, I found that shunting my magic into my veins mitigates blood loss."

My mentor blinked in surprise as Serana murmured, "I _wondered_ what that was…" A couple seconds later, he shook his head and grouched, "Alright, as long as you're both being safe about it. Just… whatever you do, don't tell Isran," the last he said to Serana as much as me. ' _Who?_ '

Serana waved him away; once he'd left, I relaxed onto my Ana again, cuddling up to her side and sighing, "Bloody arsehole, killing the mood."

"Hush, my 'Mione," Serana purred lightly, "You look a bit tired. Get some sleep," she pulled me closer, my face now in the crook of her neck, "We'll continue once you wake up."

"Mmm, kay," breathed I, making sure as much of my body was touching my Ana's as possible before whispering, "Night, love."

"Night hon," she whispered back, sounding like she was drifting off herself.

And though we slept till next morning, we didn't get a chance to continue our… ahem, _physical activities_ , a celebration at Jorrvaskr and magical studies taking precedence to any heavy petting, though we did manage to sneak a snog or two, between potions.

…And then there were the events of the night after…

 **. . . . .  
Late Evening, 30th Rain's Hand, 4E201  
Whiterun City, Jorrvaskr, The Underforge  
. . . . .**

"Do we _really_ have to be here?" asked Aela, brow furrowed as she looked at Kodlak, whose gaze was for Drevas alone.

Sighing, the Dunmer replied in a strained tone, "Strictly speaking, no. The only ones who _need_ to be present are myself, Hermione," his apprentice, in her mages robes and the leather boots he'd given her in Blackreach, looked curiously about the room from her place at his left, trying to avoid looking at the rough-hewn stone basin in the center, "Farkas," whose arms were crossed petulantly, glaring at the floor and ignoring his brother's questioning looks, "and Kodlak. The rest of you don't _have_ to be here, though the Pack showing solidarity would make this go more smoothly."

Skjor growled, "I don't like this. I'm loyal to the Companions, to the Inner Circle, but Kodlak, this is _madness_ , what this _Dunmer_ is trying to drag us into."

The great Nord in question didn't break his frowning almost-glare, directed at Drevas himself, as he answered in his quiet baritone, "The only way this isn't going to happen, Skjor, is if Farkas or Hermione accept the Huntsman's token. Well, Farkas? It _is_ a great honor, you know, being Favored by the Huntsman."

"I'd sooner piss glass than wear _Sinding's_ hide, Harbinger," was Farkas' gravelly response, making Drevas himself suppress a groan.

"You know my feelings on this, Master," whispered Hermione, eyes on the ground beneath the basin and sounding like she'd rather be anywhere else, preferably between Serana's breasts if recent events were any judge.

Accepting both responses, Drevas cracked his knuckles before addressing Farkas in a mild tone, "I'd suggest _not_ saying that, once we're underway-"

" _Have you been listening, Dark Elf_?" Skjor snarled; Drevas _barely_ restrained rolling his eyes, because, _for fuck's sake_ , he'd known the man when he was still a wet-behind-the-ears brat that barely came up to his chest, and how _dare_ he take that tone with him, "We're not talking atronochs or daedroths here, you're _seriously suggesting_ we summon one of _Them_ , inside the city walls. Haven't you read about the _Oblivion Crisis_ , you-"

"Think _very hard_ about what you're about to say, _whelp_ ," retorted the Dark Elf in question, though his neutral expression didn't change, which probably made him look all the more scary; the furious Nord's expression of rage didn't change, but he remained silent, so Drevas spoke gently, "If I didn't know what I was doing, I wouldn't _dare_ attempt this."

"Besides," his apprentice actually spoke up, sounding hopeful, "It's not like we're trying for Old Dagon or Herma Mora, here. The Huntsman _is_ one of the nicer Princes, isn't he?" Aela nodded grudgingly at that, though she didn't stop playing cat's cradle with a worn leather cord, a tic she'd had since showing up on the mead hall's porch, a mere ten winters old… her father's dried blood flaking from her cheeks, eyes wide with hope and bravery and fear.

"Take care what you say, _girl_ ," Skjor bit out with a sneer, shaking Drevas from his reminiscence and making him wonder if a blood sacrifice would be a better medium than what he had in mind; before Skjor could dig his grave, however, Kodlak broke in.

" _Silence_." It may have been one word, and it may have been whispered, but from Kodlak it was like Shor himself had lain down judgement: Skjor's mouth clicked shut, Aela stopped fidgeting, Vilkas stood up a little straighter, and Farkas uncrossed his arms, shifting his weight in Hermione's direction.

All the while, the aged Harbinger didn't take his eyes off Drevas; an eternal minute passed before Kodlak asked quietly, "Is there no other way?"

Drevas sighed; they were _both_ old men, now. He remembered when the lad across him had hair orange as the rising sun, which darkened over the years, from battle and smoke and flame and _life_ , into a ruddy crimson that ensured no shortage of admirers or women. Now… they were both grey and weathered, but still strong, still standing…

One slip-up this night, and Whiterun would only know of their ends from Hermione's soul-wrenching screams of madness as she ran blind through the streets, eyes gouged from her skull and drenched in the blood of the Companions and Last Dragonborn.

He shook the thought from his head; it wouldn't happen. He knew what he was doing, and Hermione knew better than to play with matters beyond her ken. The others…

"If there was, Kod, I'd do it. But," Drevas shrugged, lips quirking in sad wryness, an expression matched by his old friend on the other side of the basin, "given time constraints and the difficulty of bringing about other rituals, in addition to the fact that Hircine's nearest alter is in Cyrodiil…"

Kodlak nodded in understanding, then gave out a weary sigh before asking, "Any advice than, Dre?"

Ignoring the nervous shifting of the Companions and the quiet gulp of his apprentice, Drevas approached the basin where the Savior's Hide rested, "Keep your eyes on the ground and _don't look up_ _no matter what_. Do not speak unless spoken to. Be respectful, but not pompous," he glanced at Vilkas when he said that, drawing a round of anxious chuckles and grunts from the young man's fellows, "If any of you have old business with Hircine…" Drevas gulped softly, continuing hoarsely in a serious voice, "Speak your piece _now_ , as all our lives will be at stake otherwise."

Silence, save the crackling of the room's torches.

" _Very well_." Drevas' voice was like a bell tolling. Raising a hand and calling on his magic, the flames of the torches flew to his hand. He snuffed them with a gesture, plunging the room into darkness.

Swallowing once more to steel his screaming nerves, he drew a glass flask of clear water from his robes, along with a thin black box which he laid on the rim of the basin. Without hesitation, he opened the box, uncorked the flask…

…and began the Chant.

 _I give you water, taken from the Niben.  
I give you the string, from a poacher's bow.  
I give you a feather, dropped by a raven.  
I give you a needle, by which flesh was sewn._

 _I give you the blood of a betraying coward.  
I give you the wrappings of a vengeful wraith.  
I give you a Circle, in silence, heads bowed.  
I present the Hide, Gifted in good Faith._

 _And I give you Fire, the first Divine Gift to Mortal Kyn. **Yol.**_

A wisp of flame left Drevas' lips, landing in the basin. He stepped back quickly to his place in the circle, bowing his head as flickering light lit the cavern and he continued the Chant.

 _I call upon Hircine, God of the Wild.  
Whose Blessed do run, wither they may.  
Come down from the stars, stay but awhile.  
Beneath the Twin Moons, shining bright as Day._

" _Come. Come. Come. Come_." The words were taken up, spoken calmly in unison by all those present, even Skjor, as the ritual compelled them. Drevas himself realized, as a foresty scent filled the grotto and the sound of distant howls came to his ears, he couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.

After twelve repetitions, Drevas continued alone:

 _Here in the Darkness we call you.  
Here in the Darkness we pray.  
Attend to your Faithful, Hircine!  
Answer your Circle, hear what we say!_

"Here in the Darkness," Hermione's voice shook with trepidation.

"Here in the Darkness," Farkas' growl was tinged with eagerness.

"Here in the Darkness," Vilkas' tone was dry with fear.

"Here in the Darkness," iron had nothing on Kodlak's resolve.

"Here in the Darkness," said Skjor through clenched teeth.

"Here in the Darkness," Aela's pitch made her sound like a child again.

"Here in the Darkness," and Drevas' voice was sure as ever.

" **Here in the Darkness** ," spoke the Circle in unison, " **COME!** "

Golden, prismatic light flared in the basin, temporarily blinding Drevas; as he blinked away the spots, he heard Aela whispering, " _Don't look up, don't look up, don't-"_

" _Be silent_ ," hissed Drevas, watching as the shadow of the basin took on a deeper hue, a black void speckled with points of white light beneath the swirling radiance reflected on the floor of the Underforge in a psychedelic mosaic of greens, blues, yellows, browns and all colors between, shifting like a living stained-glass window, giving the impression of a grand forest set in fields of gold. The baying of war-hounds and wolf-kin mingled with the cackle of hyenas and jackals, coming from the swirling shadow of the eldritch light…

As the shadows of all standing, save Drevas, _inverted_ , their heads touching the basin rim in defiance of all logic. One by one, again starting with Hermione and ending with Aela, the shadows resolved into the shape of a different canine, which sat at the edge of the haloed void. Shepherd(Hermione), Mastiff(Farkas), Foxhound(Vilkas), Hyena(Skjor), Jackal(Aela), and Husky(Kodlak); each prowled about each other along the void's edge, the silhouettes' appearing to have eyes of their own as they looked at each of the Circle, judging the gathering's worthiness with slits of white light.

All save Drevas' own shadow, which the hounds gathered about, three by three…

…and **_howled_**.

A gasp of surprise ran about the Circle as their heads were forced to remain bowed, held by an invisible force; claws raked down Drevas' spine as, in the wake of the hound's call, the sound of galloping hooves resounded about them, though, in terror, the Dunmer found the sound was also _inside his head_. He wasn't alone, if Vilkas' quiet whimper and Skjor's gasp were any indication.

As the gnashing teeth in Drevas' soul and the frantic primal drumming in his heart reached a crescendo, the moment _broke_ , perfect silence falling over the gathering.

Like oil on water, Drevas' shadow detached from his feet, the legs soon forming into antlers springing from an elaphine head, a powerful, masculine body following, gird with a furred kilt; the scent of freshly spilt blood and the musky odor of wild beasts filled the air as a wickedly barbed spear formed in the shadow's hands, which was quickly driven into the ground with an earth-shaking **boom** and Drevas fought with all his considerable will _not to drop to his knees in worship_.

Because _this_ Daedra had no use for supplicants or the bowing and scraping of civilization, and only had respect for the predator, the Hunter, those who took with their hands and teeth. Primal, pure, menacing, merciful.

Such was the disposition of the God of the Wild.

The Shadow's eyes opened, white pits amidst the starry void of its being, before seeming to narrow at Drevas in annoyance. Then the antlered head tilted to the side in seeming curiosity.

 **Drevas of Mournhold. What a surprise… though I suppose it shouldn't be, given who and what you are.**

The voice was both around them and _within_ , Hircine's voice, the call of elk and the roar of bear, the tread of mammoth and the hiss of an eagle's wings; that it was tinged in humor didn't help the feeling of standing before a presence that could crush them with less than a thought.

Still, manners must be observed, and Drevas' lips quirked a little as he responded hoarsely, "Lord Hircine, well met. Please, excuse the sparse accommodations, I had little time to prepare."

 **Nonsense. All of Nirn is my palace. To tell true, you could have done worse** , the Daedra replied, folding his arms, looking about with bored interest and continuing airily, **Why, it's not even my Summoning Day, and you use the Chant of Calling successfully; no doubt Potema would be jealous, were she not serving as a footstool for my brother, Molag. No matter. Why have you summoned me, Mortal? Speak!**

Gulping reflexively at the _totally unwanted_ information, Drevas complied, "Two of this Circle presided over the death of your Shamed Champion, Lord. It is regrettable, but they see the Savior's Hide as a reminder of a Hunt better left forgotten. To wit, they wish you take the Hide back with their thanks, without ill will or insult to yourself."

As Drevas spoke, the Shadow of Hircine moved to stand between Farkas and Hermione; once the Dunmer finished, the Daedra began stroking his chin as though in thought, the Shepherd shadow moving about his legs and watching Hermione, the Mastiff sitting before Farkas and staring impassively at the Nord.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Hircine spoke, **Young Lavinia, the younger Wolf you slew, insisted, Hermione Granger, that you be gifted with an appropriate token of my favor for freeing her body and mind from my Shamed's… _violations_** , Hermione shuddered, for too many reasons in Drevas' opinion, but Hircine wasn't finished, **Most who gain my favor would be happy to wear the hide of their hated foe, yet you refuse. Speak your mind to this Circle, Hermione Granger: why do you refuse my Favor?**

" _I would rather your Shamed's name, deeds and legacy be ground into dust by Time's millstone than give him the dubious honor of wearing his skin as **protection** , milord_," was Hermione's furiously whispered response; in Drevas' opinion, it wasn't a _bad_ response, but there were better ones. He just hoped Hircine didn't take offense.

 **So you would have poor Lavinia be forgotten?** Hircine barked, the hounds growling at his feet.

"No." Hermione replied, sounding close to tears, "She is with you, Lord. I have ensured she will never be forgotten… an example of your mercy to those you Favor and Bless, if that is your will."

Silence again, though this one was tinged with a feeling of pleasant surprise.

 **She agrees, Hermione Granger. So be it: Lavinia shall be raised by Myself in the Hunting Grounds as an Avatar of My Mercy. Although…** the Shadow stroked an antler while the Hyena chuckled quietly, **there is still the matter of your payment to consider. I will not be held in debt to a Mortal, girl!** Hircine's voice was a stampede of giants and a screeching horde of Cliff Racers descending on them, as he cut across Hermione's protests, strangling them before they could be voiced, **Farkas, the Hound of Jorrvaskr, will be rewarded in the fullness of time, so long as he lopes at your side, Griffoness of Whiterun. _You_ , on the other hand… you will need a more _lasting_ token of my Favor, that I may express my pleasure at finding a Mortal whose ideals so readily match my own.**

 ** _Father_** , the Shepherd spoke, looking up at Hircine, **_if I may?_**

The Shadow knelt, putting a clawed hand that reeked of a fresh kill on the hound's neck as they conferred quietly for a few moments; Drevas took the opportunity to check on his apprentice. Her pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and she'd worried her lip raw. Glancing in the opposite direction, he saw Aela wasn't much better off, fingers incessantly playing with that leather cord, eyes wide with fear. He really couldn't blame them, the smallest part of himself, the orphan, whimpering with abject terror in the Daedra's presence.

 **Yes. I agree,** the Shadow spoke suddenly, standing while the Shepherd turned its gaze to Hermione. Folding his arms again, Hircine addressed Hermione directly, **You realize, Hermione Granger, that in refusing my Gift, I am within rights to bestow you with whatever I wish?** Hermione nodded jerkily, still pale and fearful. That fear peaked in Drevas' own heart at Hircine's next words, **Then I bid you appreciate, Mortal, that should you refuse my next Boon, you _will_ regret it.**

"I understand, milord," murmured Hermione, the steadiness of her voice at odds with the anxiety he could feel coming from her.

Tilting its head back, as though looking down its nose at the younger Dragonborn, the Shadow spoke, **Kresh.** The Shepherd looked up at Hircine. **From this moment henceforth, until battle takes you or my Favored releases you, you are her shadow. Show her the loyalty of the pack, and aid her however you wish, until her greater task is completed.**

 **_I hear and obey, Father_** , the Shepherd responded before leaping from the rim of the void, attaching to Hermione's feet; from the corner of his eye, Drevas saw her shadow reconstitute, appearing human, but with a sharpness that wasn't there before. She also let out a startled 'meep!' and twitched as though freezing water had been poured on her.

Once done, Hircine spoke again in a softer tone, **Never before have I placed one of the Wild Hunt in the service of a Mortal, whether Favored, Blessed or Champion, Hermione Granger, my Most Favored. However, I see a great Doom before you, and you have touched me with your merciful actions. Therefore, I give what aid I can, and let it never be said I, Hircine, am without compassion.**

"Thank you, Lord Hircine," the young girl squeaked, no doubt shocked at receiving such an honor; and an honor it was, at that! Drevas hadn't _ever_ heard of the Wild Hunt of Hircine being used for anything besides hunting down rouge Hunters that had evaded His Mortal agents.

Nodding, Hircine hummed a moment, **Now, for another matter** , and the Shadow turned to Kodlak, **Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions of Ysgramor… For your deeds in life, I will allow you to continue with your plan to remove the Curse of Glenmoril, and my Blessing by extension, but know this: should your actions include invoking one of my brethren, even if it is one such as Azura, _you will know my Wrath_. **Drevas heard Kodlak gulp from where he stood. **Are we clear?**

"Y-Yes, Lord Hircine. Perfectly clear," despite the slight stutter, Kodlak's tone was still strong; ' _Good. Wouldn't want Skjor to get the wrong idea_ ,' mused Drevas as the Shadow walked back to stand before him.

It regarded Drevas for a long moment before speaking, **Boy. Don't ever use this ritual again, especially with _her_ present**. Hircine nodded his head toward Hermione before continuing, **There are forces at work that even such as you can barely comprehend, and not all have your interests in mind, or are as vulnerable to your powers as the _Dovah_ are. Be wary.**

Drevas nodded as much as he could, bowing slightly at the Daedra's warning, "Thank you Lord Hircine, I shall be vigilant. Fare you well."

And just like that, it was over.

The torches flared, the prismatic light vanished, their shadows returned. Lifting his head, Drevas found the Underforge to be completely unchanged by Hircine's presence, save the absence of the Savior's Hide in the central basin.

"Um… Master?" he looked over at his apprentice's worried tone, finding her frowning up at him with an… odd expression on her face, "This… um… this feels _really weird_. Like… I have a sudden urge to scratch my ears _with my feet!_ "

"Yeah, we've all gone through that," Vilkas reported calmly, shaking hands producing a wineskin, "It'll go away in a day or so… _maybe_. No one's been Blessed like you, before," and he took a few healthy gulps before passing the skin to Farkas, who began chugging it with abandon.

Kodlak let out a strained sigh before saying to Drevas, "I'd ask that you leave her with us for a week or so to acclimate to having a… Blessing of Hircine… as a part of her, but it'll probably be better if she discovers how it works in the Wild. Oh, and Farkas?" the hulking Companion passed the wineskin to Hermione (who shrugged and took a gulp of her own, shuddering as she passed it to her frowning Master) before grunting questioningly at the Harbinger, "For making all this Daedric shit necessary, you're being placed on salary pay; from now on, you're a part of Thane Drevas of Mournhold's retinue, if you'll have him that is?" The last was said to Drevas, who had just passed the strong wine to Aela as Farkas sighed in resignation.

"Fine by me, Kodlak. I could use an extra bit of muscle out there," he and Farkas nodded to each other, the Nord a little more hesitant, "Now, if no one minds, I'm going to get my gear ready for tomorrow before getting _very_ drunk and fucking that Redguard bint in the _Mare_ 's kitchens till she's cross-eyed. Toodles."

And, sharply about-facing, Drevas strode away to the door to the Underforge, mind entirely on the coming adventure and a certain set of mocha-skinned breasts, Hermione travelling uncertainly in his wake with the Companions' raucous laughter ringing at their backs.

"Err, Master?" ventured Hermione once they were outside and making their way around the Mead Hall.

Turning, Drevas found Hermione slightly hunched over and looking like she was struggling to remain upright, "You okay there, Hermione?"

"Oh yeah, brill," she snapped irritably, "Just wondering if the urge to move on four legs is _normal_ ," and his apprentice fixed him with a withering glare.

' _Well…_ ' he mused, looking at his struggling apprentice neutrally, ' _This should be entertaining, if nothing else_ ,' "Ask Serana," Drevas replied, turning away as Hermione made an angry noise, "And tell her to check my box for a book on the Wild Hunt. If you can't find anything tonight, well…" he shrugged, "We'll figure it out while we're on the road to Riften."

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N:**

 **Gonna have to cut it there. We'll see the Dawnguard next chapter.**

 **Sorry that took so long, I got distracted by a something shiny.**

 **In looking about the FFnet archive, I found something interesting:**

 **THIS IS THE FIRST AND ONLY STORY WITH A Hermione/Serana PAIRING! WHOOOO!**

 **I'll try not to let you down on the romance scenes!**

 **A couple explanations for parts of this chapter that _may_ seem… controversial, to some readers:**

 **Firstly, in the first section, remember who you are beholden to. Snape, for all that Fanfiction tries to redeem as a misunderstood guardian angel (when he's not being paired with literally _everyone_ ), is a colossal, whiny _dick_. That's his personality, both in canon and in this story.**

 **Secondly, Harry's suicide attempt. *sigh* It was hard writing that into this story, but ultimately necessary. Look at it from Harry's point of view: he'd just spent ten years as, basically, a slave. He finds out he has magic, and makes his first friends. Then, one year after another, he's thrown into situations where his life is at stake. Three years into this, he reaches out to one of his friends, asking for more. She agrees, they become close, share their lives with each other over five months. The boy who was a slave sees the light, believes he can be happy.**

 **Then it all gets ripped from his grasp in one terrifying moment.**

 **Now, from what I've gathered, both in study of the human mind and my own… _experiences_ … two things could happen: that boy, who has only recently known the comfort of others, becomes bitter and hateful, his heart darkening to the blackest steel. Or… having known love, and lost it, he sees only one way out of this painful existence… and takes it.**

 **I've known and gone through _both_ , and it was hope that brought me out of that awfulness. The first scene isn't really allegorical, but it's as accurate to this story as I can make it.**

 **Thirdly, if you have something wrong with the age difference between Serana and Hermione, _tough_. They're not in Western society, the idea of Christianity doesn't exist, and the closest the denizens of Tamriel get to Victorian values of romance is the practice of monogamy and courtship. Which, when you take their chaotic history into account, kind of makes sense; for five thousand plus years, an entire continent has been in a struggle for their very _souls_ , so the idea of 'love who you love and damn convention' seems like something the Nords, at least, would promote in a world where Necromancy, banditry and Daedric shenanigans are very real threats.**

 **Having said that… what do ya think of their lemon-scented scene? It's not really my strong point, romance, but I think I did well…**

 **If you have any further questions, leave a review; unlike James Stormcaller, I respond to reviews for this story in PMs.**

 **Thanks for reading! Till next time,**

 **~Baked**

Next time: Bonding, the Dawnguard (for real this time!) and _too many moths!_


	11. Chapter 10: A Few Brave Souls

**…**

 **The Disclaimer: see Chapter 1: Warm Sun, Glittering Dark**

 ** _Massive_** **chapter here, nearly twice the average size of this story's chapters. I couldn't find a good place to cut in in half, so… here you go!**

 **Warnings for this chapter: A _lot_ of swearing, Riften, a dragon (!) and Hermione being exposed to Sorine (RUN FOR COVER!) Jurard.**

 **Why are you still reading this?!**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
Chapter 10  
A Few Brave Souls  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .  
Afternoon, 1st Second Seed, 4E201  
15 Minutes South of Valtheim Towers Guard Outpost, Whiterun Hold  
. . . . .**

Serana couldn't remember the last time she'd been this _furious_.

"Shite! ... Bugger- _damnit!_ Stop that!"

When Hermione had come home last night, smelling of forest and _dog_ , the last thing Serana suspected was the explanation she'd given: a Daedric Prince, Hircine, had declared her 'Mione _Most Favored_ before replacing her shadow with Kresh, Hircine's First, Alpha of the Wild Hunt; the only reason Serana knew those titles was due to her mother's teachings in her youth, and later direct apprenticeship under the Grandmaster of Necromancy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were countless ways to attract the unwanted attention of the Princes when raising the dead, or, much preferably to Serana's disposition, conjuring and binding Daedric creatures to a location or individual; there were, however, two Daedric groups that could _never_ be bound due to their unflinching loyalty to their Princes: the Illuminated Host, Meridia's final reward to those of her faithful who pleased the Lady of Infinite Energies…

And the _Wild Hunt_ , Hircine's children, born of mortal womb and divine seed for the sole purpose of destroying those who defied the Huntsman's edicts. It was said, in the annals of Molag Bal's faithful, that Potema herself had been dragged to Coldharbour by all six hounds of Hircine after the Wolf Queen was finally killed, her punishment for defiling several of Skyrim's holy glades.

Hermione's partially awed response of ' _So_ that's _what Hircine meant…_ ' after Serana related that story the previous evening didn't much help Serana's feelings about this situation.

On top of all that, the presence of the Daedric hound made attempts at continuing their 'physical activities' quite awkward, seeing as Hermione's commands for Kresh to 'get out of the bed!' went ignored, the hound remaining in her 'Mione's shadow and making the bed smell like dog.

Serana didn't much care for the smell, and both women slept restlessly as a result; hence their grumpiness when _Drevas_ cheerily woke them from their restless sleep so they could get on the road… with that Werewolf Farkas in tow.

Farkas wasn't such a bad guy, in Serana's opinion; he'd kept Hermione alive during that adventure down in Falkreath and possessed a no-nonsense personality that reflected her own. But… _he smelled strongly of_ **wolves** , and, combined with Kresh's constant presence, overwhelmed Serana's senses and kept her on edge.

But Serana could forgive all those things; no, there were two reasons for the feeling of **rage** boiling through her being.

The first was Drevas' overall cheeriness, no doubt due to the fact he got laid last night. If she didn't know better (or had not smelt that Redguard chef's scent all over him), Serana would've suspected he was actually happy at the prospect of seeing Isran and the Dawnguard again; when she'd last been in the castle, the two powerful warriors had gotten into a loud argument about… something. Probably Drevas' position as one of Boethiah's Proven, or his worryingly comprehensive knowledge of the Daedra, if Serana's recent discoveries said anything.

Which explained the volume of the argument in question; on the bright side, no one would have to dust the ceilings in the main hall of Castle Dawnguard, for another year at least.

The second reason was… _right in front of her_.

"NO! You can't go after the rabbit- _GAAH! STOP THAT!_ " Hermione shrieked, her shadow, currently looking like a large Chorrol Shepherd, having just tripped the armored teenager before trying to drag Serana's beloved after a rabbit that had run across the road a minute ago… which was now watching the proceedings from atop one of the many boulders strewn at the feet of the Throat of the World with as confused an expression as could be managed by a rabbit.

Not even two hours out of Whiterun, and they'd already discovered Kresh's ability to not only do _this_ , but that Hircine's Alpha wasn't able to go more than ten feet from Hermione before being reeled back in, much to the Daedra's displeasure.

Farkas, at least, was trying to get the accursed mutt to stop mucking around. "Ah! No! Bad dog!" the Companion chided the shadowy Daedra as a silently fuming Serana helped her 'Mione back to her feet while said shadow _growled_ at them, "No hunting without permission! That's a-SHIT! HE BIT ME!"

That was another thing: apparently, if Kresh acted on someone's shadow, it affected his victim's physical body. Serana had two bite marks, one on her ankle and another on her _hand_ from last night's attempted 'activities', to prove that the _stupid fucking_ _bastard mutt_ was more hindrance than help in this adventure.

And what were Drevas and Scales doing during all this? The clannfear was, apparently, smarter than Serana or Farkas, and was currently stood a dozen yards up the road, not wanting to get closer than necessary to the belligerent Daedric hound.

Drevas, on the other hand, was watching these proceedings with a small smirk on his face, like he watching some impromptu comedy skit and _not helping in the slightest_ , the ashskin fuck-wit.

No sooner did Hermione regain her feet did she chide the hound herself, "BAD KRESH! Don't bite my friends!" the _thrice-damned bloody impertinent mutt_ responded by trying to run off again, this time causing Hermione to fall right on her face once he sat at the edge of his range like the mangy little snot he was, "OOF! Holy Daedric Blessing MY FIRM **_ARSE_**! IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN-… **RGHAAAAAAAAAH!** " Serana recoiled slightly at the utter fury roiling off her beloved as the stupid shadow-dog began rolling in the dirt; the Daughter of Coldharbour wasn't sure she wanted to know what that felt like, but it must be _far_ from pleasant if Hermione's seething rage was anything to go by.

 _Snicker_.

Eyes flashing, Serana whirled to level her strongest glare on Drevas, who'd actually _chuckled_ at the sight of his apprentice essentially throwing a tantrum over the belligerent Daedra; over Hermione's continued swearing, some of which was _quite_ inventive, and Farkas' caustic grumbling as he healed the bite on his hand with a poultice, Serana hissed, "Something funny, _Drevas_?"

Smiling at her, the Dragonborn replied, "Mostly, it's funny how you're all going about this the wrong way."

"Then _enlighten me_ , oh glorious Master," sneered Hermione from the ground while Serana wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn't killed Drevas yet, "How to get this _fucking dog_ to listen?! NO! KRESH, IF YOU DO THAT, SO HELP ME, **I WILL FIND A WAY TO OBLITERATE MY OWN SHADOW! _SEE IF I DON'T_**!" the younger Dragonborn all-but roared at the Daedra, which had just lifted a leg right next to Serana's shadow; thankfully, it relented in the face of Hermione's threat, though Serana was now even _more_ angry at the hound for even _thinking_ to attempt doing… _that_ , on her shadow!

Drevas sighed, smiling as he shook his head and muttered, "This, Serana, is why I wanted to teach her Conjuration rather than Mysticism and Alchemy." Louder, he barked in a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a Legion Barrack, "OI! Kresh, Alpha of the Wild Hunt!" the Daedra turned its head in Drevas' direction, "Keep this up and I'll be letting your _father_ know you've been misbehaving and ignoring his Most Favored's commands! Now get your furry arse in line _or else_!"

And, _of fucking course_ , the Daedra shifts into a human shape and sulks apologetically back to Hermione's feet, much to the shock of the other three adventurers.

Dusting his hands off, Drevas continued blithely, "Really, it's not that hard; the Wild Hunt have always answered to Hircine and Hircine alone. That aside," he continued as Serana's fury built, mostly due to the fact that he could've mentioned this _hours ago_ , "we should find some bandits, maybe a barrow, so you two can get a feel for one another. I mean, it _is_ one of the Wild Hunt," the Dunmer added to his apprentice's confused expression, "and there's nothing that tightens the bonds of friendship, for the Daedra anyway, like a rousing fight."

While Hermione looked at her shadow in contemplation, Serana thanked the Nine that Drevas wasn't wearing his helmet as she asked him sweetly, "So, in your opinion, our arguments over the past months have brought us closer together?"

"Well," he allowed, unaware of the imminent danger to his person, "you haven't run off and we haven't killed each other; on the other hand, I don't consider you a Daedric creature, so I'm quite confident in my calling you fri-"

She punched him. _Hard_. So hard, in fact, that his jaw clearly broke from the impact as Serana knocked the ebony-clad Dunmer to the dirt.

Fuming, the Daughter of Coldharbour hissed down at the groaning Dragonborn, " _Then the next time you have information that could benefit **your** apprentice, MY_ beloved, then please, _share it_ , so that we're not _delayed_ from, oh, you know, SAVING THE WORLD FROM MY JUMPED-UP DISEASED CUNT OF A **_FATHER,_** you ** _… BELLIGERENT FUCKING OUTLANDER!_**"

The silence that fell in the wake of the noble vampire's tirade would've made Sithis himself shudder, if not cough awkwardly.

Rubbing his jaw with a glowing hand, Drevas slowly got to his feet, Hermione, Farkas, Scales and Hermione's shadow watching fuming vampire and grimacing Dunmer warily. Rolling his jaw around to make sure it all knit back together, Drevas looked Serana in the eye and said _very_ quietly, "I deserved that."

"You did," she snarled back.

"Feel better?" he asked mildly; Serana bristled, so he raised his hands, "Serana, it's not like I _asked_ Hircine to give her Kresh."

Behind her, Hermione spoke soothingly, "He's right, Serana. I mean, I'm sure he's _useful_ ," the shadow huffed, "but, all things considered, I think I'd rather be a Werewolf," Serana shuddered involuntarily at the idea of her beloved being on the opposite end of Daedric blessings with herself.

Farkas agreed, speaking hesitantly, "You… _really wouldn't_ , Hermione. Just being in Serana's company makes my Inner Wolf… well, _agitated_ , I guess is a good word for it," he turned thoughtful for a moment, "Hey, speaking of fights, isn't there a bandit camp nearby?"

"There _was_ ," replied Drevas while Serana glared at Hermione's shadow, which was scratching an ear with a foot, much to the teenager's apparent annoyance, "Now it's an outpost for Whiterun's guard… Actually, all the nearest forts were cleared out during the crackdown, so no bandits for us."

When no ideas were immediately forthcoming, the party got moving again, though more subdued than when they'd left the gates of Whiterun that morning; they were taking the northern road around Skyrim's highest mountain to The Rift. A two day journey to Riften, then another half-day march to Castle Dawnguard, in the passes of the Eastern Jeralls. Serana, personally, hoped the journey went by quickly so she could research more ways to help Hermione's… condition; the older woman wasn't _entirely_ sure how relationships like the one she was in were supposed to develop, but one thing the vampire _was_ sure of was that she wasn't about to let a Daedric creature get in the way of her feelings for the budding young witch.

As they passed the outpost at Valtheim Towers, Drevas leading the way with Scales at his side, Hermione and Serana in the middle and Farkas bringing up the rear, the object of Serana's affections suddenly perked up; when she didn't immediately say anything, the Daughter of Coldharbour glanced down at the girl.

She was gnawing on her bottom lip, brow furrowed in a way Serana knew meant her 'Mione was deep in thought; it was also _so cute_ , and made the older woman wish she could kiss those lips while walking. In fact, if it wasn't just _begging_ to get shot or make Drevas tease them relentlessly, she'd have tried it.

Blink. Hermione brightened before chirping, "Hey, I just remembered! Farkas," Serana's girlfriend (mental squee) started walking backwards and addressed the Companion behind them, "remember that barrow near Morthal?" The Nord grunted, making Hermione smile for some reason, "Well, according to that idiot's research notes, the next piece of the amulet is in a barrow on the lake just east of Ivarstead."

"Huh," smirked Farkas, glancing at Hermione's shadow, which had turned back into dog-form and was wagging its tail in eagerness; looking at Serana, he asked, "Think we can swing a quick detour?"

"What's so important about this amulet?" Serana asked, looking between her beloved and the Companion. From the tilt of Drevas' head, the old Dunmer was also interested about the subject being discussed and was listening attentively.

Hermione's bright smile made Serana's stomach backflip, "You mean besides the fact that _Arch-Mage Gauldur_ was the one to create it?" Okay, _now_ Serana was interested.

"The Gauldur Amulet?" she queried in surprise, receiving an eager nod in response; warmth filled her at the revelation that her 'Mione had taken on a quest all her own, which was echoed by Drevas' declaration.

"Credit where it's due, Hermione: you don't do things by halves," the younger Dragonborn blushed prettily, to Serana's eyes anyway, as her mentor went on, "I suppose we can add a day of travel… unless you've got an objection, Serana?"

She didn't, and said so with a shrug, "Not at all; in fact," Serana looked at Hermione, "it looks like we'll get a chance to see what Kresh is capable of." ' _Not to mention I can vent my frustrations in a productive manner_ ,' the Daughter of Coldharbour added to herself while her beloved grinned again.

Buoyed by the prospect of adventure and potential riches, the party moved on to their new destination in high spirits.

 **. . . . .  
Early Afternoon, 2nd Second Seed, 4E201  
Geirmund's Hall, Lake Geir, West Rift  
. . . . .**

"MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHITE DEATHLORD! I HOPE MALACATH AND MOLAG SPIT-ROAST YOUR DAMNED SOUL BEFORE PASSING YOU OFF TO SHEOGORATH SO HE CAN RECITE BAD POETRY AT YOU WHILE DAGON PLAYS TWO OFF-KEY LUTES FOR **_ETERNITY_**!"

Maybe I should explain why my Master's swearing up a storm in a Nordic barrow...

Finding the barrow was the easy part of this side adventure; plumbing the place, on the other hand…

Well, there were more draugr than Folgunthur, and these were better prepared, tactically, to face us; despite this, the six of us, four adventurers, one clannfear alpha and Daedric Hound, were more than a match for the crypt Lord's forces. Unlike the barrow in Morthal, most of the draugr congregated around choke-points in attempted ambush and tried their hardest to drive us off. To no avail.

 _Stormbringer_ made its presence known, loudly at that, much to Drevas' and Serana's excited shock; even though she helped me enchant the powerful weapon, my girlfriend (' _Eee!_ ') was stunned by its combat effectiveness. Master Drevas just got a look in his eye, like he was going to ask for something ridiculous in the near future.

Though I had doubts about my ability to take this barrow single-handed, no matter what Serana said. My friends shouldered most of the burden regardless; although, it was kind of humbling to see Master Drevas _actually whistling_ as his mace, the aptly-named _Starfall_ , crushed ancient armor and weapons like they were made of blown glass, as well as my love wreathing her hands in blood-scented magic(?) before whipping one undead guardian after another with bloody ribbons ending in flail-like hooks, tearing arms and bodies asunder with ease, or flinging pointed darts that exploded on impact.

Farkas and I actually felt unneeded at points, what with the two juggernauts plowing the way to the burial chamber; not that we took the chance to slack off, claiming at least half of the kills for ourselves with bow and blade.

Kresh turned out to be a true Boon as well, though I was still kind of mad at the hound for _rolling my shadow in the dirt_ ; ugh, that felt _so weird_! The shadow-based Daedra zipped out to the formations of draugr, breaking legs and hamstringing our enemies, Scales cackling as he moved in the Shepherd's wake and tore quite a few snipers and spellcasters to shreds; their contribution actually resulted in us making great time through the moldy, soggy barrow.

But then we ran into the Deathlord… who was a total _arsehole_.

Shortly after arriving in the deepest part of the crypt, the undead corpse of Sigdis Gauldurson busted out of his sarcophagus and proceeded to make us regret waking him up; he created illusory copies of himself, scattered them throughout the room, and began shooting arrows at us with reckless abandon. Curiously, his copies shot the usual ancient, rusty arrows that most draugr used; such ammunition was practically useless against our armor, which had been seen to by Master Eorlund before we left Whiterun, and they died in one hit, so they were more annoyance than anything.

Sigdis, on the other hand, used _Daedric_ arrows, had a bow that drained our magic every time he so much as _scratched_ our armor, and kept switching places with his copies while constantly creating more to distract us, the _utter bastard_ ; even Kresh and Scales working together couldn't pin the slippery Deathlord down, though they _did_ make the fight a little more even as they darted around the room, destroying Sigdis' copies while the four of us hunkered down near the Deathlord's sarcophagus and rained arrows, bolts and blood darts at anything that wasn't white (Scales' current color) or a violet shadow (Kresh).

The upside: Sigdis had _a lot_ of arrows, so once the arse inevitably bit the dust (courtesy of Farkas putting an arrow through its eye right as Serana blew its chest out with one of her darts), not only was I the proud owner of another Gauldur Amulet fragment (victory dance!), but we now had two score Daedric arrows to split amongst our archers; on a side note, this is how I discovered Serana was a well-trained archer. Not as good as Drevas, who'd been using the bow for more than a century, or Farkas, who had been trained since he was small(er) by Aela, but my Ana was no slouch herself, despite preferring spells to arrows.

The downside: Sigdis had _a lot_ of arrows, and knew how to use them. Hence why my Master was swearing up a storm as a battered Farkas broke an arrowhead off right before an equally battered Serana yanked the arrow out of his knee, which my scratched-up self was holding steady with a regenerative potion at the ready.

Serves him right for laughing at my earlier dilemma.

"VILE'S CHEESY _TAINT_ , BE A LITTLE ROUGHER, WHY DON'T YOU?!" roared Drevas after the shaft left his knee with a squirt of blood, the potion in my hand pouring over the wound as my Master growled furiously and shunted golden magic into the limb.

"Oh, shut up, you big baby," hissed Serana, tossing the bloodied shaft over her shoulder, "You didn't hear _me_ screaming after Durnehviir _cut me in half_ , so suck it up," Drevas didn't reply beyond another incoherent snarl of pained fury.

I, on the other hand, was rather shocked (and a little _absolutely livid_ ) at the news that someone (or some _thing_ ) hurt my Ana, "Who or _what_ is Durnehviir?"

"An undead dragon that Drevas and I had to fight in order to get to the Scroll from my mother," was my girlfriend's airy reply, "It was actually so impressed with Drevas' combat prowess that it gave him a Shout that would summon the immortal beast to Mundus, for a time." Holy shite… I didn't know whether to be frightened or ask Drevas for the Words of Power; as if _he_ needs to be scarier than he already is, what with _Starfall_ and the mind-shattering awesomeness that is the Toolbox.

 _Mistress?_ What the hells?! I looked down at my shadow, which was holding the Amulet fragment in its teeth; a voice rang in my head once more, sounding like a young Imperial man, _This hunt was rather challenging, but the fiend's treasure is now ours! Will there be more such foes for us to slay, mistress?_

"Ah… uhm… err," roll with it, Granger, "Not here, Kresh, but there might be vampires in the near future… and I hear the Rift has wild trolls, so if they attack us…" I trailed off, mostly because Serana and Scales were looking at me weirdly.

 _Jubilation, mistress_ , Kresh's tail wagged in eagerness, before adding in a regretful tone, _Please excuse my earlier behavior. This is the first time I or any of my siblings have been Bound to a Mortal, and I wanted to gather a rabbit to aid the Pack and prove my worthiness._

"Oh. Well, while I appreciate the thought, it's not really necessary; just… don't roll in the dirt anymore… or annoy my Ana," I glared down at the Shepherd, "She is precious to me, and can get as close to my person as she wishes; bite her again, and your Father will hear of it."

 _Of course, mistress; please, convey my apologies to your mate for my crass behavior._ Giving a little bow at the end, Kresh morphed back into my natural shadow. In my own mind, though, ' _Great, the Daedric dog can speak into my head… Err, Kresh? Can you hear this?_ '

 _Did you need something, mistress?_

' _No. Just ignore my thoughts unless I call for you_.'

 _Very well._

I then proceeded to scream internally, the recent rash of unusualness finally taking its toll. Honestly, at times it felt as though the Gods were having a laugh at my sanity's expense!

"Um, 'Mione?" oh, right, Serana's staring at me, probably wondering why I'm talking to my shadow; bright side: Farkas and Master were too busy divvying up the spoils of a large chest to notice, "Were… were you just-"

"Talking to Kresh? Yeah," replied I, glaring at a rather deep gouge in my right gauntlet, ' _Stupid Deathlord_ ,' "Apparently…" I took a steadying breath, "He can speak directly to my thoughts; oh, and he says sorry for biting you and being a general arse."

"Oh…" my girlfriend's glowing eyes drifted from my face to my vividly edged shadow, a perturbed look on her beautiful face, "That's… well, I accept his apology, but… um… _that's kind of worrying_."

The feeling was _very_ mutual, but I didn't show it, instead raising an eyebrow and pointing out, "Beyond making the start of this journey hell, which he apologized for and explained to me, he seems to be more help than hindrance, Ana; honestly," I shrugged, smiling, "at this point, I think we should just take it in stride. Hircine _did_ say having Kresh at my side would aid my path," I added when Ana continued to look worried, "And… well, I'd rather have the Huntsman at my back than, say, _Mora_." Reading _The Book of the Daedra_ had given me a good deal more insight into the mysterious beings than I'd previously had, but _that_ particular Prince… well, again, better Hircine than Mora. Tentacles, yeah, _no thanks_.

We shared a shudder as Drevas and Farkas strolled back over, the old Dunmer asking carefully, "Okay, first: sorry for all the swearing, but knee plus arrow equals _pain_. Second: that looked like a 'thank goodness it's _this_ and not _that_ ' shudder; what's up?"

A brief explanation of Kresh's newfound ability was followed up with a question for Farkas, posed by Serana, "Out of curiosity, has your Inner Wolf ever-"

"Nah," the Companion grunted, "It's mostly…" he frowned, obviously trying to find the words, "I get his emotions in regards to a situation; ever since Kresh showed up, he's been itching for a good hunt. Oh, and he doesn't much like you, probably because you're a vampire, but he's less on edge now that we've had a good fight."

Drevas clapped his hands, "Well! Now that we're all a big, happy, dysfunctional," ' _Really Master_?' I irritably thought, "lightly dinged-up family, complete with Daedric dog, let's get back to the light of Magnus and the land of the sane." At least we could all agree on _that_ ; moldering ruins were all well and good when you had a reason to be there, but when it came to communing with friends, you couldn't beat a tavern.

That and, I realized as we headed through a hidden doorway, there was something in my boot… "EEK! THERE'S SOMETHING IN MY BOOT!"

"Okay! Don't panic-" _clang!_ "Err…"

"IT'S WRIGGLING! GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT!"

"Easy now-AAH! FUCK-MOTHERING _SPIDERS_!"

"Really, Farkas? You're scared of a few- MOLAG'S STONES! FIRE! DREVAS, KILL THEM WITH _FIRE_!

" _Holy shite_ , that's a lot of spiders. Did you step in an egg sac or something?"

"LESS TALKING, MORE BURNING!"

"They're still on her leg, Serana! No, bad Scales! Don't use your tail, use your claws and scrape them off! Yeah, like that!"

"KRESH! KILL! KILL THEM _DEAD!_ "

 **. . . . .  
Late Morning, 5th Second Seed, 4E201  
Lost Tongue Pass, Southern Rift  
. . . . .**

So, minus having to take a two potions a day to stave off being poisoned by frostbite spiderlings (awful experience, that), the remaining journey to the city of Riften wasn't very eventful…

Okay, so I ended up getting some hands-on training on how to skin, gut and bone a deer from Farkas and Kresh, and Serana took some time to teach me how to use an actual bow (when we weren't snogging in our tent), but none of that was particularly interesting.

The Rift is a lot like Falkreath, actually, but less wild; we took the south road around the Treva River and Lake Honrich to reach the Hold capital and avoid possible bandit attacks on the northern bank of the river. The local Jarl, Laila Law-Giver, was, according to Drevas, 'a corrupt, honor-less poser of a woman who wouldn't know justice if it reached up and took a bite out of her-' and that's as far as he got, thankfully, seeing as _another_ troll ran at us and promptly died; downside of the south road, sure, but between the six of us none of the filthy things got close enough to do anything except smell bad.

But, yes, the upshot was that the woman didn't bother sending out patrols to deal with the bandits holed up in this fort or that cave, instead relying on Ulfric Stormcloak's militia recruiters to bring the idiots into the fold, with… impressive results; in fact, most of Stormcloak's Nord-dominant army were former bandits, which explained both Farkas' and my Master's mutual dislike of the traitor and everything he stood for.

Anyway, the land; most of the Rift is, much like Falkreath, composed of highland forest. Unlike that untamed wilderness, however, the trees here aren't as tall or grow so close together, which allow for settlements to pop up along the road, or for farmers to till small but profitable fields near the abundant springs and small streams at the feet of the Jerall Mountains. Most of this came from my studies, the book on Skyrim's geography heralding this Hold as one of the three that provided crops and foodstuffs for the Empire's northernmost province, Whiterun and the Reach being the other options for settling fertile ground.

As a result, the Rift had a well-cared-for feel to it, though with an edge in the background, like walking through a forest glade with a sleeping bear in the middle; one misstep, and Oblivion might break loose. Falkreath had a similar feel to it, so at least I felt like I was on familiar ground.

Until we got to Riften in the afternoon on the 4th, that is.

Entering through the South Gate was kind of _weird_ , seeing as the guards stiffened at the sight of Master Drevas before hurrying in unlocking said gate; my mentor's quiet ' _Good, they're learning_ ,' didn't much help the anxiety in entering a new city, especially one that _smelled_ like Riften did!

Built on the edge of Lake Honrich, Riften was home to Skyrim's oldest fisheries and brewery, the Black-Briar Meadery. While not as old as the other major cities in Skyrim, the importance of the city wasn't anything to scoff at; situated as it was in the South-East of Skyrim, the city lay on a trade route that ran into mainland Morrowind, said road branching into Cyrodiil's Eastern marches and travelling as far South as Black Marsh. As such, nearly all of the North-most province's land trade passed through Riften, the city getting the choicest bits before the trading caravans made for the other Hold capitals.

Though, in these days of civil war, the city had fallen on hard times, the Jarl's decision to side with Jarl Stormcloak not helping matters; according to Drevas, as we approached the city, the Jarl of Windhelm all but alienated his Dunmeri neighbors with his decision to shove the Red Mountain refugees his father gave sanctuary to into the city's slums, then refusing to investigate any crimes which occurred there. The Morrowind Council, on hearing of Riften's Jarl declaring her allegiance to the Kingslayer and Oathbreaker (a Jarl, I'd learned from Lydia, swears to uphold the Rule and Letter of Law for all their subjects, and Stormcloak's actions broke those oaths), cut all trade to both Riften and Windhelm, the treatment of their kin overriding their hatred of the Aldmeri Dominion.

While all well and good in my book, that didn't help the fact that Riften _reeked_.

Unlike the advanced aqueducts of Whiterun and Solitude, Riften relied on an inefficient sewer system that dated back to the mid-Second Era to deal with the city's waste; on top of that, Lake Honrich was the source of the Treva River, which meant that anything the people of the city threw into the water would make its way downstream… or, in the case of human waste and fish guts, settle on the bottom of the lake. That there was an apothecary just above the city's waterline certainly didn't help the unique stench that lay omnipresent over Riften: a burning smell of potions gone wrong, shit, and rotting fish filling the air like a pestilent fog.

The people didn't seem to mind, however; we'd arrived just as the market rush (such as it was) wound down for the day, so we split up to make last-minute purchases and flog the spoils of the barrow. A couple axes, jewels and Septims lighter made me four Grand soul gems heavier, so I went and waited by the nearby tavern, the _Bee and Barb_ , with Serana while Farkas and Drevas bought up arrows from the smith and some _moron_ thought it a good time to harp on about his spurious wares, a case of expensive-looking potions which he introduced with bombastic aplomb.

"Make love like a Sabre Cat, or crush your enemies to dust like a _Giant_ ; all this and more can be yours with Brynjolf's patented…" pause for effect, Serana suppressing a giggle at his ridiculous posturing, "Falmerblood Elixir! Only twenty gold Septims, for a limited time only!"

Okay, as Farkas would say, what in the actual _fuck_?! Who, in their right mind, would want to drink _anything_ that has _Falmerblood_ in its name?! Or is stupid enough to pay _twenty bloody Septims_ for it?

"Well, at least _you_ don't need an Elixir to ' _make love like a Sabre Cat_ '," my Ana's teasing whisper erased my incredulous expression, replacing it with a blushing grin; ooh, I hoped we got separate rooms from Farkas and Master! Now that Kresh was behaving (if grumbling to himself over the _rotten stench_ of this place), Ana and I could continue what we started… oh, wait, bad idea. We were still on the road, and it wouldn't do to head out into the wild wobbly-legged and grinning like fools. Blast.

"Not here, my Ana," was my whispered response, a coy grin promising retribution for her teasing, "Maybe somewhere less… _smelly_." She hummed in agreement, noble face twisting slightly in sympathetic disgust as I spotted Drevas and Farkas approaching, the Companion looking like he was fighting not to throw up; Gods, but I felt bad for him. Having the nose of a wolf in Riften was probably the worst part of being a Werewolf.

"Sir, surely an adventurer such as yourself," Brynjolf the Moron accosted Drevas, who turned a neutral gaze on said Nord, "can see the benefits Falmer blood can have on a potion! For are they not _fiercely powerful_ -"

"The Falmer are slightly more annoying than skeevers and about as smart, which still makes both species more intelligent than _you_ , _gobshite_ ," go Master! "I hope to _all_ the Gods, Aedra and Daedra, that you're not _actually_ putting _Falmer blood_ into a potion and trying to sell it, _Brynjolf_." The gobshite blinks a couple times before his eyes widen in recognition; he must be drunk, which, given the water in the lake around us…

Yeah, _eww._ I'll stick with ale from Drevas' Toolbox, thanks.

"Oh, haha, Thane Drevas," the idiot gulps, smile fixed on his face, "Still thinking about that offer I made?"

"Thought about it, and my answer hasn't changed: fuck yourself, _thief_. Oh, and tell that whore Maven, next time she wants to hire assassins, try the Morag Tong; they might actually succeed where the Brotherhood _died_ ," the now-outed thief stiffens and pales _at the same time_ , an impressive feat, before backing away as Master Drevas strides past him, Farkas keeping one eye on the gobshite as they approached us.

"Don't ask," the aged Dunmer said exasperatedly to Serana and I as he walked into the _Barb_ , the rest of us at his heels.

We ended up not sleeping in different rooms, but at least Drevas and Farkas were gentlemen and gave us girls the bed. An uneasy night followed, Farkas staying awake for much of it due to Hircine's Blessing (I was still coming to terms with the idea of something the Temple saw as a curse, as a Blessing, though Serana's presence and advice helped), with the rest of us waking at small creaks and the occasional cough of the female Argonian proprietor as she did her nightly rounds. The reason?

The Thieves' Guild had a base in Riften, which was located, presumably, by Drevas' observations last time he was here, in the _sewers_. Double _eww_! That gobshite's stupidity made a lot more sense now, what with the fumes that must congregate in the cisterns! Idiots!

That morning, we left the city with our throats and coinpurses intact, making for Stendarr's Beacon at the far end of Lost Tongue Pass with all speed; both Serana and my mentor were eager to get this leg of their journey, which had taken the better part of the last three months, over with, while Farkas and I were eager to lay eyes on the Castle Dawnguard. From what the Companion described, taken from the history lessons of his youth, it was an impressive structure, though its location had been lost to the grinding roll of years.

The pass, as we entered it, gave me a bad feeling: high mountains on either side, sparse tree cover, uneven ground, little wildlife; everything about the place practically _screamed_ 'ambush', and from the set of Master's shoulders and Serana's swiveling head, I wasn't alone in my suspicions that we might get jumped. The only question was: what form would our opponents take?

I would regret such a question in but a few moments.

Not ten minutes into our brisk march through the pass, Drevas stilled, staring at a… crater in the middle of our path, the menhirs that once encircled it shattered and strewn about the surrounding earth; he drew his bow, Scales becoming nearly invisible as he took on a green/brown mottled coloring and chittered in worry. I brought _Stormbringer_ to a ready position and searched for threats. Nothing… but it was _too quiet_. No bird sang, not even the chirp of a cricket. At the back of my mind, I felt Kresh's hackles raise, an eager growl backing my worried thoughts.

Farkas spoke for our worries in a whisper that carried in the eerie silence, "Lord Drevas? What is this?"

My mentor nodded at the crater, "That was a dragon burial mound. It was still filled in last time I came this way," blood running cold as the sound of Kresh's eagerly gnashing teeth tore across my mind, I set my crossbow to its Reductor setting and cursed, for the last time, that I _still_ hadn't found a way to make the damn thing reload itself.

"Likewise," Serana threw in, blood-scented magic rippling across her fingers, copper eyes scanning the mountaintops, "It was filled when I headed out to Morthal while you took the North road to Winterhold, Drevas."

Growling savagely, Farkas put his sword back in its harness, drawing the Orcish bow Drevas gave him back in Ivarstead and nocking it, "Fucking _great_. So where is the flying terror?" I silently seconded the question, though with quite a bit more fear, which was at odds with my slowly warming blood. Despite not liking the path I was on, the prospect of a real fight _excited_ me!

An ageless minute passed, our group creeping ever closer to the burial mound, keeping our eyes on the skies and hands on weapons, before-

The wyrm's thunderous roar of challenge split the silence like nothing I'd ever heard, its gold-black body banking suddenly around the mountain on our left, coming down the pass right at us!

" _Spread out!_ " roared Drevas, sending an ebony shaft at the beast, " _Don't give it a target and **keep moving**!_" I hastened to comply, dashing for the trees at the foot of the mountain, staring in wondrous horror at the dragon bearing down on us all the while.

The legendary creature could've easily flattened Breezehome with its body alone, all rippling muscle and adamant scales shining in the gathering noonday Sun; its fell wings covered a full _half_ of the pass in shadow as it flew over above arrow-shot, head swiveling to look at Master Drevas, jaws that could easily rip a _mammoth_ open curling into the cruelest caricature of a grin I'd ever seen, a clubbed tail that could smash the Gildergreen into the ground arresting my attention as the beast banked _right over my head_ , wings brushing the mountainside as it came about with another Nirn-shattering roar and I fought not to piss myself in _utter terror_.

 _MISTRESS!_ Oh, right, Kresh. _Steel yourself, for the beast will not allow us to pass in peace! Let us fell this demon, for Lord Hircine_!

Not the best motivational speech ever, but I'll take what I can get! Blood boiling as the dragon came to a hover in the middle of the pass, I watched as it took an arrow in the belly, courtesy of my mentor, before the dragon spoke in a voice like an avalanche while I took aim at a wing.

 **"Dovahkiin! Zu'u fent drun hin krent kopraan wah Alduin, tol rok aal velaaz nau hin slen! _YOL TOOR SHUL_!" (Dragonborn! I shall bring your broken body to Alduin, that he may feast on your flesh! _FIRE INFERNO SUN_!)**

With a great flap, the demon lunged forward on fell wings, bathing the pass beneath it in white-hot dragonfire; Scales shot out of the way of its flames and closer to me as I abandoned my cover and darted further into the pass, the clannfear alpha's visage grim with focus. I spotted Drevas tracking the beast with an arrow on the other side of the burning canyon as it came back around, blood darts flying from behind one of the toppled menhirs that marked my destination.

He loosed the arrow before, " ** _WULD!_** " my mentor blurred to the other side of the pass, dodging a fireball as our opponent roared in primal fury. Sliding behind a toppled stone, heart pounding hard against my ribs, the whole battlefield heard Drevas' roared response to the dragon's taunt, " **Kuz gein laat frolok do, dovah, fah daar staad fent kos hin graad! _KRII LUN AUS!_** " (Take one last look about, dragon, for this place shall be your grave! _KILL LEECH SUFFER!_ ) The dark purple blast struck true, though that didn't stop the beast from replying with another fireball before flying back up the pass, one of Farkas' arrows striking its leg as it went.

I kept my crossbow up as the great wyrm turned about, flying low and aiming to bathe Serana and I in flame; my hands shook at the cold, alien intelligence that shone in those eyes, boiling blood beginning to replace fear with _rage_. ' _Kresh! Help me aim!_ ' I thought as the beast bore down on us.

A cool, furry feeling rippled up my leg and over my arms, steadying my shaking as distant howls rang in my mind; a wing-joint filled my vision, time seeming to slow as fire gathered in the dread wyrm's maw.

 _Chack!... **BLAM!**_

I hit it! Scales, blood and tissue flew from the dragon's right wing-joint, where the limb met its body; aborted flames spewed into the air as it let out an agonized scream that would haunt my nightmares for the week to come, its great bulk falling to gravity's pull and bringing it to earth.

The wyrm had been flying fast, its fall resulting in not only a Nirn-shaking _boom_ that rattled my bones, but also in its plowing the ground _right for Serana and I_!

" _MOVE!_ " my girlfriend screamed, darting right as I ran left, the vampire peppering the beast's head and side with blood darts while I threw a quick lightning bolt at its wounded wing; the dragon's body shattered the remains of its burial mound before coming to a rest slightly past us. I reloaded as fast as I could, taking partial cover next to a boulder, Kresh howling encouragement while still helping to steady my arms, _The demon is grounded, mistress! Come, let us fell it!_

' _Not yet Kresh!_ ' objected I, watching Drevas loose another arrow at the dragon's wounded wing while it struggled to rise, tail whipping in agitation and blocking Serana and Farkas' attempts to flank it with arrow and spell, ' _It must be worn down before we can fell it safely!_ '

Taking aim at the uninjured wing joint, just visible past a ridged spine, my singing blood was nearly stilled by the dragon leveling a glare at me and speaking once more, **"Impudent joor! Ag fah Viinturuth! _YOL TOOR!_ " (Impudent mortal! Burn for Viinturuth! _FIRE INFERNO_!)**

My vision was immediately filled with orange and white as it bore on me, Serana's cry of horror carrying to my ears. I ignored both, listening to the song in my bones and bringing my own flames quickly to bear for a punctual and desperate reply.

" ** _YOL TOOR!_** " my fireball crashed into the dragon's, both Shouts detonating against each other in a fantastic explosion of flame; shielding my face with my bow, the flames washed over me as I ran closer (' _What am I doing?!_ '), the enchantments on my armor keeping me from being roasted alive. I heard Master Drevas roar in anger before the _hiss-shick!_ of an arrow striking the beast reached my ringing ears and I wasn't too sure but it smelled like my eyebrows might have burned away.

Lowering my impromptu shield once the flames passed, I found the beast shirking from Drevas' bow, another ebony arrow lodged in its neck as it turned to face me, eyes furrowed in a primal rage that would've shook me, were I not taking aim again; its deep voice rattled my bones as the demon spoke in disbelief, **"Faal joor Tinvaak?! Fos kromaar los-?" (The mortal Speaks?! What sorcery is-?)** I didn't let it finish.

 _Cha- **BLAM!**_

Seeing as its statement was turned to a scream of pain and fury as _Stormbringer_ tore part of its face away; the force of the Reductor spell might not have been enough to destroy dragonbone, but flesh and blood were another matter. Holstering my crossbow with a savage grin, I drew wand and axe, Kresh's snarling howls and blood-song filling my being. ' _This kill is mine!_ '

Another arrow slapped into the beast's face, opposite where my bolt hit, courtesy of Farkas; Serana's blood-flail snagged the creature's tail, tearing flesh and tendons as this dragon desperately tried to escape the killing circle we closed about it. Farkas' and Drevas' arrows struck with regularity now, aiming at joints and damaged scales. I threw Piercing Curses at any wounds I could see as I ran about, keeping my distance from the thrashing beast. A primordial shriek rang out as Scales leapt upon the wyrm's uninjured wing, beak and claws tearing at the leathery limb; as it turned its head to remove the annoyance, I took my chance and _ran at the dragon's neck_.

" _Bombarda!_ " my spell struck the same spot _Stormbringer_ had, ringing the dragon's bell; I holstered my wand, tightened my grip on _Eclipse_ , and jumped at the demon, grabbing a horn and swinging onto its back with a victorious cry as Drevas arrived with _Starfall_ raised and a feral grin of his own decorating his ashen features, reaching the beast right as it keened in dying frustration, " ** _WULD!_** "

 _WHUDD!_ The Dunmer's super-heavy mace shattered part of the beast's jaw, teeth and scales flying through the air as he passed; stunned, the dragon didn't notice my getting into position until it was too late.

A blood dart followed an arrow at the base of the beast's neck as I used its disorientation to my advantage, standing upon its head and readying my axe's enchantments; the wound further back exploded, making the dragon jerk in pain, nearly unseating me as it tilted its head.

Its one remaining eye met mine as I roared, "DIE FOR HIRCINE _, DEMON_!" I raised my axe high for the final blow!

I felt it stiffen below me as that pained eye widened in horror, **"Dovahkiin?! VOKORASAAL!" (Dragonborn?! IMPOSSIBLE!)** Those were its last words as I claimed my prize!

 _Eclipse_ fell, cleaving dragonbone like wet paper; throwing my body backwards as the beast convulsed, I dragged the ebony axe through its skull, cutting clean through its brain before leaping free, Kresh's baying of approval ringing in my head as the beast gave a full-body jerk once, twice… then slumped to the ground, its broken jaw hanging loose in a final expression of shock as the wyrm finally died.

I howled my victory to the heavens, bloodied axe held high! My first dragon! What a battle, what a hunt!

Wait…

I blinked. Looked at Master Drevas grinning maniacally at me, panting in exertion himself. Saw Serana running for me from the right, looking like she didn't know whether to kiss me or yell at me. Farkas came running right behind her, swearing up a storm while sporting a face splitting grin, as Scales mounted the dead dragon's back and shrieked in victory, claws and beak bloody, before leaping down and trotting over to us.

 _What. The. Fuck_?

I just killed a dragon.

I just jumped onto a dragon's back and _killed it_ , dedicated the kill to Hircine…

What in the _hells_ …?!

"Hermione!" Serana appeared in my vision, grabbing my shoulders and searching my no-doubt pale face, "Are you okay?! Gods above, what were you _thinking_ , doing something so reckless?!"

"Lay off, Serana," my mentor drawled, ambling closer and holstering his mace, "Her dragon's blood is probably to blame, though I can't argue with the results," he smiled proudly at me while my girlfriend sent him a withering glance, "Nicely done, lass. Quite a step up from Falmer, hmm?"

I turned to my right, axe hanging limply in my grip; yep.

Dragon.

Quite dead.

I killed it.

Huh.

Farkas was saying something, but I didn't hear him. Or anything else; the sound of my slowing heartbeat filled my being as a white light shone from the wyrm's corpse.

I felt, vaguely, Serana tighten her grip on my shoulders as a prismatic light burst from the beast, filling my vision and _flying toward my body_!

I tensed for but a moment as the searing light wrapped about me before seeping into my skin, burrowing deep and _filling me, from my marrow and back to my skin again, with the same fiery **heat** that had **sung** in my **body** during the **battle**._

 _I saw things in the light._

 _A priest wearing a black mask, offering up a group of beautiful women for me to devour._

 _The sky burning, golden light upon the mountain, Alduin's cry of fury cut off suddenly._

 _Sleep, rest, blind eternities pass me by._

 _Alduin returns, waking me with his powerful Voice._

 _" **Wait in the pass, Viinturuth. When you feel the Dovahkiin's presence, break him and bring him before me.** "_

 _The Dovahkiin has come. I lunge upon him and his allies._

 _They are ferocious, prepared. I fight still._

 _My Thu'um quashed._

 _My body broken._

 _A mortal girl, eyes burning with battle-lust, the Huntsman's mantle on her shoulders, axe raised in victory._

 _My Qahnaarin._

 _She is Dragonborn!_

 _IMPOSSIBLE!_

 _The axe falls._

 _The world darkens…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _…in the cold darkness, I hear a voice._

 **HERE IN MY SHRINE**

And I know no more.

 **. . . . .  
Five Bells in the Morning, 6th Second Seed  
Castle Dawnguard, Dayspring Canyon, East Reach  
. . . . .**

Everything hurt, like I'd been hit by a Giant, or Master's mace. Either or. The difference?

I was alive.

The smell of leather, weapon oil, healing potions, and the faint scent of a home-cooked meal reached my nose as I came slowly, painfully, back to reality.

" **Kolos… kolos zu'u?** (Where… where am I?)" I groan, rubbing my aching eyes with hands that feel wooden, arms like lead.

Opening my eyes, I took stock of my surroundings, slowly sitting up as the aching in my body lessened: masterfully crafted stone above and around me. I was in some kind of castle infirmary, if the Alchemy desk, racks of potions and multiple beds were any indication. I could hear _very faint_ snoring coming from the wall to my left, which was decorated with a long, low dresser, my armor and gear laid out neatly on top. Faint light came from a narrow window above my bed, illuminating a small table and chairs, a stack of books and several cups on the well-worn surface telling me that I was most likely safe.

Someone had gotten me out of my armor and into casual clothes, probably Serana, seeing as I was wearing a blue and gold silk brocade long-sleeved blouse with silver buttons, and rather nice-looking netch-leather pants, the boots from Blackreach set next to the camp bed I was laid in. The well-fitted outfit, which definitely didn't come from _my_ pack, complemented my figure nicely, even if it was a little too soft for my tastes; still, it felt good to be in clean clothes-and someone had given me a bath, too. ' _Oh, Serana… I'm going to kiss you dizzy for this,_ ' I thought, a rush of warmth filling me at my Ana's thoughtfulness.

Then I remember the fight.

The wyrm's roar of challenge.

My taking it from the sky.

Kresh's assistance.

The killing ring.

 _Starfall_ shattering the beast's maw.

My axe raised, declaring my kill to the God of the Wild.

 _The vision. The voice in the Void_.

We'd killed a dragon; _I'd_ killed a _friggin' dragon_! Sure, I probably wouldn't've stood a chance by myself, but _still_! Why hadn't I been afraid?! Well, okay, _I was_ afraid, scared out of my wits in fact, but then the fear had vanished… right about when… ' _Kresh?_ '

A shudder tickled the back of my mind, before the Daedra's tired yet eager voice rang through my mind, _Mistress! Praise Hircine, you wake!_

' _Yes, I'm awake,_ ' thought I a little irritably, swinging my legs off the bed I'd been laid in; there was my vivid shadow, Kresh's natural body taking form and settling a bit apart from my natural shadow, watching as I ran my hands over my face, ' _Oh, and you have some explaining to do_.' The Hound tilted his head in confusion, so I spoke aloud, " **Hi drey zos wey hiif zey mor, ahstiid krif- fos?! Druv los zu'u tinvaak med daar?!** " (You did more than help me aim, during the fight- what?! Why am I speaking like this?!) What in all the hells?! I was talking like a dragon!

 _Ah, yes, the other Dragonborn said this might happen_ , admitted Kresh, tail wagging slowly while I fought not to have _another_ breakdown, _According to him, it_ should _go away within a few minutes of waking, mistress, and that the first time is the most intense; or, that's what he said to calm your mate. She was rather distraught at your fainting, mistress, though the other Dragonborn said that was normal as well._ He cleared his throat, a strange sound between a growl and a bark, before finishing, _As for my assistance… you were afraid, mistress. I gave you some of my courage and improved your reaction time, so you wouldn't be felled by the beast._

That explained _most_ of what happened, but, ' _And declaring the kill to Hircine_?'

 _Oh, that was all you, mistress!_ Kresh wagged his tail happily. _Tis a good thing, that you are taking your role as father's Most Favored seriously!_

My eyebrow _twitched_. None of what had, or _has_ , happened to me was in the book my Master gave me on the _Thu'um_. Oh, and apparently Kresh's presence and my title of Hircine's Most Favored meant dedicating some of my kills to the Daedric Prince. More twitching. Oh. I. Was. _Not. Happy_.

Then someone knocked on the door. " ** _Laas_**." Drevas. I didn't know anyone else with that profile, " **Haav!** " (Enter!)

The Dunmer himself opened the door, dressed in a shirt like mine, except black instead of blue, a pained grimace on his face as he looked apologetically at me; at least he took the time to close the door before speaking, "Before we have this conversation, remember your oaths. Speak only in True Need, do no wrong," the reminder of my path, of what I'd chosen to stand for, calmed the fires raging in my heart and mind enough to process my mentor's next words, said with quiet, empathic sincerity, "Next… _I'm so sorry, Hermione_."

Eyes widening as the aged Dunmer walked to a chair with a sad, almost _angry_ , look on his face, I felt more than heard his words as Drevas continued, "I'm no slouch with Restoration, so believe me when I tell you this: there were literally _dozens_ of other ways to heal the injuries you sustained in Blackreach without giving you a blood transfusion. In fact, if I'd had help or wasn't so bone-deep _tired_ from plumbing Alftand, you wouldn't be Dragonborn…" he paused, sitting and glaring at his boot-clad feet, "If I could, I'd take it back. It's not worth the power, what having dragon's blood does to you; you become… _cold_. Instead of trying to get in good with people, you're driven to dominate, to _conquer_ , to take what you can and _damn the consequences_!"

He was all-but snarling now; this was a side of Drevas I'd never seen, but he continued to shock me with his next words, " _It's a fucking curse_ , not some Blessing from Kyne, like the Greybeards told me it was, and the more you use it, _the more it tries to change you_ ," he looked at me, tired red eyes meeting watchful browns, "It _will_ change you; before Helgen, before killing that dragon outside Whiterun… I wouldn't've given _two golden shits_ about whether or not Skyrim got torn apart, whether by vampires or dragons or the civil war; it wouldn't have mattered to _me_ , some aged adventurer just waking up after a night in the local brothel, taking in _another_ execution before heading south. Hells," he gave a humorless laugh, "I'd probably be in Leyawiin by now, under a different name, setting up shop, selling the trinkets I've picked up over the years and writing my memoirs."

" **Ruz zu'u fund lost dir ko tol vul raf, krah ahrk naalein,** (Then I would have died in that dark hole, cold and alone) and no one would've known what happened to me," I replied steadily, trying to be strong for both of us, because, I realized… "Neither of us may want this, the path we've been set on… but if not us, if we don't do something, then _who_?"

"Outside the whole, _dragons ending the world_ , bit, I can think of a few good people who'd fight tooth and nail to make sure Harkon _dies screaming_ ," admitted Drevas, still sounding tired, but with a smile on his face, "Not that _our_ feelings matter, in the eyes of the Gods."

"Then why believe in them?" It was something I'd wanted to ask since Blackreach and reading of the Aedra and Daedra, but the opportunity never presented itself, until now.

He shrugged, "Between the Aedra and the Daedra, the Divines are the lesser of two evils. Plus, none of the Nine have ever _actively_ tried to end the world; make our lives hell, sure, but you don't see Stendarr ripping holes in reality and killing Emperors."

How very cynical… and more like my Master than the quietly despairing old man from a moment ago. I couldn't think of a reply, but Drevas seemed to be feeling a little better as he continued, "I get what you mean, though; if Alduin hadn't returned and attacked Helgen, you'd have died… probably," he waved his hand through the air, as though to dispel the depressing thoughts clouding the air, before asking softly, "Anyway, now that you're not talking like a dragon, how're you holding up, lass?"

I smiled, looking down at Kresh; Gods, but there were _so many_ things to say to him… fuck it, "When you absorbed your first dragon… did you… hear a voice, at the end?" I asked, looking up at the end to see his reaction.

He frowned. _Severely_. "What did it say?"

"' _Here in my temple'_ ," I shivered, broke eye contact; just the _memory_ made me feel… _unclean_ , "I… I've never heard a voice so… so… Master, _it was so cruel_. Even _Alduin's_ voice wasn't that cruel."

Drevas came over and sat across me, on the other bed; after glancing at Kresh, who was rubbing his head against my leg in comfort, he assured, "Whatever it is, I haven't heard it, and while it's… worrying, that _you_ heard it, there's no point in dwelling on the matter; for all we know, you heard Alduin's thoughts, or a Dragon Priest's."

"What?" I gave my mentor an incredulous look, "A _Dragon Priest_?" The only one I'd encountered wasn't _that_ intelligent; but, then, it was being controlled by a vampire at the time, so Drevas might have a better idea of what they're naturally capable of.

He gave a disgusted look, which showed through in his tone, "Those fuckers were crueler than the Wolf Queen _and_ smarter than the average Deathlord. I wouldn't be surprised if one of the masked bastards made a shrine to itself in hubris."

I blinked, saying urgently, "I saw one with a black mask, in my vision!"

"Huh," my mentor looked thoughtful, "Mine was copper-colored, with a green tinge. More research for when Harkon's dead at our feet," he ended with a chuckle, while I looked at him questioningly, "Once this is over, Hermione… Serana's stated a desire to head to the College of Winterhold, to hone her abilities and relax for a while; I spoke with the Arch-Mage, about two weeks before Blackreach. He's got no problem with a vampire taking up residence. To tell true, I think the idea of having a Master Conjurer and Necromancer in residence was more of a selling point than anything."

"Oh," I replied, becoming a little crestfallen; Ana hadn't told me about this… why?

Drevas pushed my knee, smirking at me, "Lass, I don't know if you've noticed, but Farkas knows what he's doing better than most adventurers I've worked with, and Serana _really_ cares about you. You're probably the first person to look at her and see something other than a vampire or Daedra worshipper, the first meaningful relationship she's ever had, barring her mother, but you already know how unhealthy Serana's home life was, so... When this journey is behind us," he finished with a kind smile while my eyes watered at the implications, "Farkas'll help me uncover what I need to put Alduin's head on a spike; _you_ , on the other hand… if you _don't_ go with Serana for whatever reason, I'll track you down, pack you in a barrel of salted fish, find the most rickety, wobbly-wheeled carriage I can, and mail your tiny arse to the College myself."

"I can go with her?!" at my mentor's nod, I could barely contain myself, so I hugged him with a barely suppressed squeal of happiness! The College of Winterhold! One of the world's largest libraries! With Serana! "Thank you, Master! Oh, I'll be sure to do you proud!"

Patting my back with a chuckle of his own, Drevas replied with a smile in his voice, "Oh, of that, I have no doubt, lass; foreigner you might be," I looked up into his fondly smiling face… then he _ruffled my hair_ , the jerk! "But, with your talent and brains, if you're not Arch-Mage by the time you go back home, I'll eat my mace. With ketchup."

Swatting his hand away with a growl, my stomach made its own protests known, "Speaking of food…"

He pointed at the door, red eyes rolling in humor, "Loo's out the door, second one on the right. Stairs are to the left, just go down and out to find Serana in the Rotunda; she'll show you where the dining room is."

 **. . . . .**

" _Serana!_ " oh, she looked _so worried_ , biting her lip and pacing like that; at my call, she all but darted to me as I grabbed her in a hug that cracked her spine, the delightfully warm feeling of her burning unlife comforting me like the softest blanket.

"Hermione! Oh, I'm going to kick that Dark Elf's _ass_ for not warning you," my Ana pulled back, looking into my eyes with worry while I smiled up at her, "You're okay? Kresh still behaving?"

"Yes and yes," replied I, "Oh, and before I forget…" rapping her lightly in the middle of her collarbone (" _Oof!_ "), I chided my Ana teasingly, "That's for not telling me about your plans to run off to Winterhold! Ana, how could you?!"

Before she could answer, and it was probably a good one if her sheepish smile was anything to go by, a deep voice, tinged with old hatred, spoke from off to my right, " _Ana_ , eh? Something you want to admit to, _vampire_?"

Turning, I took in the speaker… or his chest. I looked up.

A bearded Redguard man, as tall as Drevas and wearing heavy-looking body armor, thick, dark brown leather gloves and slacks, what looked like blocks of steel on a heavy-duty leather cuirass, nice boots… and a glass warhammer that was taller than I was, shining with some _extremely_ powerful enchantment, probably something truly vicious if the sunset-orange glow about the haft was any indicator. His face was lined and worn from experience and hardship, steel-grey eyes that had an unusual glow, making the severe man look _almost_ as sinister as Master Drevas did when he fought, and that was saying something!

Not that I cared much how he looked, or even who he was, seeing as his words, gaze and tone implied Serana had… _ensorcelled me_ , or something; to wit, I gave him a dirty look and asked my Ana, "Who's this guy?"

Nervously, Serana withdrew just beyond arm's length (sad face!) and introduced us, "Hermione Granger, Griffoness of Whiterun," obligatory grumble at my unwanted title, "Meet Isran, Vigilant of Stendarr, Leader of the Dawnguard. He owns the castle," my Ana shrugged while this Isran glared at her, "Or, Sorine lets him stay here while she works on her Dwemer engineering Magnum Opus."

Sorine? As in the person who made Master Drevas' crossbow?! I was about to give my suspicions voice, but Isran cut in, voice steely as his eyes, "I asked you a question, bloodsucker."

"Yeah, you know what?" snapped I, glaring at the arsehole, "No-one asked you, I'm not ensorcelled, go be a jackboot somewhere else," turning from the startled Redguard and back to my Ana, who looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or chide me, I asked her, "Sorine? As in, Sorine Jurard?" she nodded slowly, which made my excitement peak, " _The_ Sorine Jurard is _here_?!"

"My ears are burning," came a female voice from behind Isran, who turned a bit and revealed a redheaded Breton woman with wide eyes, like a surprised deer, wearing a grey version of the same armor Isran was wearing, "Which means someone's talking about me."

"This _girl_ ," ' _Don't roll your eyes, Hermione, he can't help being an arse_ ,' "has apparently heard of you. She's one of Drevas' companions-"

"Apprentice, actually," the Dunmer in question saved us all from having to deal with the burly Redguard's ire as the man in question whirled to glare at my mentor, who'd just come downstairs and was smirking at the bearded Vigilant, "On that note: Isran, we need to talk." Drevas jerked his head at the stairs.

"You're _damn right_ we do," grumbled Isran, giving me one last suspicious glare before following Drevas out of the room.

Then I was exposed to the unrivaled, inexhaustible exuberance that is Sorine Jurard, "So you're Drevas' apprentice? I saw them bring you in yesterday. Nice armor, wish _I_ had access to a Masterwork Forge; then again, Gunmar's nearly as good a smith as Eorlund Grey-Mane, so it balances out. Felled a dragon, huh? Not bad, but then, Drevas and Serana here are pretty tough. That Farkas fellow seems quite capable as well, good eye-candy at that, and even Gunmar's trolls are afraid of Scales, though I can't blame them; clannfear alphas are some of the most dangerous creatures out there, you know. Between the five of you, nearly any dragon would have their work cut out for them... too bad you got magically exhausted, I was hoping to interview someone concerning dragon combat behavior so I can write a pamphlet, help people living in cities avoid getting burned to death, you know? Drevas doesn't really pay attention to things like the pitch of their wings when they bank or what tells they give off before breathing fire, so a second opinion would be better before I work on the final drafts."

I blinked. Wow, this woman was _amazing_ ; not as amazing as my Ana, but still, "Err, well I'll try to write down what I can remember of the fight, if it helps. Oh! I wanted to talk to you about your Dwemer crossbow."

"Oh, so you saw the prototype I made for Drevas?" _PROTOTYPE?!_ "Some of my best work, there; the designs weren't too hard to come by, actually. Did you know," Sorine's eyes, somehow, got _even wider_ while my mind tried to come to terms with the fact I'd used a _prototype_ _weapon_ for a _Masterwork_ _enchantment_ , "that the crackdown on banditry in Whiterun Hold had the secondary effect of gathering the Dwemer Schematics I needed to produce that crossbow? Oh yes," she added at my incredulous look, "the bandit groups based in that Hold raided the Dwemer ruin that held the schematics and distributed them amongst themselves as… payouts, I suppose. Drevas gathered them all up while wiping the scum from the face of Skyrim and brought them here. On that note, how does it work? He _has_ been using it, hasn't he?"

"I'll… I'll be right back." Before reaching the stairs, visions of _finally_ finding a way to make _Stormbringer_ reload itself with _the_ Sorine Jurard's help, I bade a giggling Serana, "Fix me up a plate of breakfast, Ana!"

If my suspicions on how the crossbow's creator would react to the enchantments I'd made were correct, I was going to need a full stomach for what was coming.

 **. . . . .**

Drevas rolled his eyes for the fourth time in as many minutes; if it wasn't for the fact that he respected Isran as a person and equal, the quiet rant the burly Redguard was just winding down on would've _really_ pissed him off, mainly because it was directed at his apprentice.

Leaning against a pillar in the Dawnguard leader's rooms, the old Dunmer fished for his pipe as Isran's pacing and ranting turned to quiet fuming and pouring of ale, the man coming to a stop in front of Drevas and placing fists on hips, "Are you even listening, Dunmer?"

"Vaguely, Isran, vaguely," Drevas replied calmly as he filled his pipe, "Mostly, it sounds like you're: one, concerned for my apprentice's closeness to Serana, and two, hacked-off over her apparent disrespect for authority. Am I following you so far?" Raising an eyebrow at the tall man, he received a curt nod in reply to the rant's summation.

Sighing, Drevas tried to explain the situation without pissing Isran off, speaking his thoughts slowly, "In the case of the first, I'll say the same thing I told Hermione an hour or so ago: Serana hasn't really had any _meaningful_ , healthy relationships with anyone, and Hermione needs someone who is compassionate enough to help keep her from breaking down; despite what you _think_ , Isran," he cut across another possible rant before it could begin, "you don't know Serana as a _person_ , choosing instead to only see an extremely lethal vampire. Though I can't blame you for your disposition, it doesn't change the fact that she _is_ compassionate, one of the most caring people I've ever met, and Hermione sees this more clearly than _either_ of us.

"Therefore, to my apprentice, Serana is a precious person, who she wants to help and keep safe, and, from what I've observed, the feeling is _very_ mutual," pointing at Isran with his pipe, Drevas finished, "And that's one reason I believe Serana isn't controlling Hermione in any way. The other reason is… _really Isran?_ I've dealt with enough vampire dens to know the difference between a Thrall and a prisoner, and Hermione's neither. If anything, young lass wears the trousers in that relationship," a chuckle left his lips as he finished, biting the stem of his pipe and waiting for the Redguard's response.

Isran's eyes narrowed slightly, arms folding as he mulled over Drevas' declaration, "…I'll take your word for it, seeing as you've been travelling with the woman for several months; not that I'll be letting my guard down around her. She's far too dangerous for my liking."

Drevas shrugged; if he was in Isran's boots, or not the Dragonborn, he'd probably say the same thing.

The other man wasn't finished, and asked with a growl, "So, how do you explain your apprentice's disrespect for authority? Or is that _Serana's_ influence?"

Red eyes blinked before their owner groused, "I think I _just_ explained why she basically told you to go bugger yourself, Isran. Next time you feel like hurling abuse at Serana with Hermione in earshot, think twice; lass knows nearly as many ways to verbally tear strips off someone as a follower of Namira could literally."

Isran blinked back, then smirked, "Got on her bad side as well, did you?"

"Ha!" the old Dunmer lit his pipe, taking a long drag while Isran sat and pulled his mug over, "I swear, Isran, that girl's gonna be a force to be reckoned with, once she comes of age. Never, in all my long years, have I met someone with so much damn _potential_."

Setting down the mug and dabbing his beard with a handy rag, Isran asked, "What do you see for her, then, old Mer?"

Drevas didn't even need to think about it, and started ticking off things he _knew_ Hermione would be capable of… _if_ she stayed in Tamriel, "Youngest Arch-Mage since Shalidor himself, no doubt she'll become Thane of some Hold or another before she's seventeen, both Jarl Balgruff and Jarl Ravencrone confided in each other that she's got the mind and temperament for Jarldom herself, though I'm trying to keep her away from politics for as long as possible…" he took another drag, blew it out, and smiled at Isran, "Oh, and if Sorine reacts the way I _think_ she will, on seeing what Hermione did to that-"

" _WHAT IN ARKAY'S NAME DID YOU DO TO MY CROSSBOW?!_ " Sorine's shrill voice made both professional soldiers jump and reach for weapons, though Drevas relaxed once the sentence made its way through his pipe weed-clouded brain.

Chuckling, he took his hand off the dagger on his belt and bit down on his pipe again, turning to a slowly relaxing Isran and flashing the man a vicious _grin_ , "Harkon's not gonna know what hit him, once we show up on his doorstep."

Relaxing fully, Isran raised an eyebrow, lips pulling at the edges, "What is it, then? Magic? Crafting? Something else?"

"Isran, the girl _somehow_ figured out Dwemer runic engraving to such a level that not only do I never need worry about cold or wet while in armor again, but she turned that _prototype crossbow_ into a _Gods-damned Masterwork_ of such power that it all but ripped a dragon's wing off yesterday, with _four days_ training in Enchanting and Serana's help," the aged Dunmer savored the utterly gobsmacked look on Isran's face for a moment, then finished up with a savage grin, "On top of this, we just left Serana, a Master in several schools of magic who can do symbolic pattern calculus in her sleep, Hermione, the next Arch-Mage and brains behind that Masterwork, and _Sorine_ , a scholar of Dwemer engineering in possession of such skill and insight she'd make Calcelmo, that _hack_ , weep with envy, _in a room with each other_ with the most incredible weapon ever made by mortal hands and a forge tended by a bored Gunmar within easy reach. Fuck _Auriel's Bow_ , Isran, imagine every Dawnguard member equipped with a crossbow that can _shatter_ _a gargoyle in_ _one shot_ and _reload itself_."

By the end, Isran's grin was just as vicious as Drevas', "You might have understated it, Drevas," the Redguard growled excitedly, raising his mug to toast the smiling Dunmer's pipe, "Harkon's going to _shit himself_ , when we front up to that ugly castle of his and claim the mad bastard's head."

 **. . . . .  
6th-12th Second Seed, 4E201  
Dayspring Canyon, East Reach  
. . . . .**

In all honesty, some of the things I've done since arriving in Blackreach really make me wonder…

Am I a good person?

Lucia, Sister Danica and Lydia would scoff at such a question, as would my Ana, but they were all more than a little biased, in my opinion; Master Drevas was a non-issue, seeing as he's the one who created the foundations for my recent successes. Farkas was the only person I'd encountered thus far who made me question my means and methods, who planted that annoying seed of doubt that, lately, makes my actions and experiences that much more raw, nightmares forming in their wake.

To tell it true, it was when we were clearing that bandit mine right after arriving in Falkreath that I'd first asked that question; as I'd stepped over the top half of a dirty, scarred woman, fingers twitching as her nervous system fought desperately against death even though most of her insides were spilled onto the ground and the life had already left her blue eyes…

I didn't much want the life of an adventurer, I'd realized as I moved passed that woman's corpse… but if it meant not having to tell some mother or father, sister or brother, that their loved one was killed before we could reach them, not having to stand there as they cried and pleaded with their deaf Gods for a mercy that couldn't be given…

If it meant sending those who caused such pain to Oblivion so they couldn't ever do it again, then I'd grit my teeth and bear it. This was _justice_ , what I was doing; it wasn't for _me_ , the bloody path of corpses that would lead me home. It was so the people of Skyrim could sleep a little easier at night, content in the knowledge that the nearest group of kidnapping, rapist _thugs_ wouldn't swing by in the night and drag families screaming from their beds to do Kyne and Hircine only knew what.

Killing these… _people_ , because even though they were awful excuses for sapient beings, they still felt pain, still _screamed_ when you _blew their legs off_ … killing them wasn't a mercy, like killing the Falmer; killing bandits was a _justice_ … not that the fact made dealing with the killing any easier…

Nor was it the same thing as hunting down and swiftly killing a beast of the wild, which was how Kresh and I spent our evenings in Dayspring Canyon, replenishing the party's food stores with venison and boar meat. I feel compelled to mention that such hunting was done with a _javelin_ and a dagger, at Kresh's insistence. It was, to the Daedra, a sign of further devotion to Hircine to keep the playing field as level as possible while on a hunt, which led to me explaining this to an inquisitive Drevas, who handed me a couple practice javelins with a _much_ fancier affair made of engraved silver, along with a book on proper technique with a wry grin and an order to be careful; and _yes_ , all of that came out of his amazing Toolbox.

The hunting itself wasn't messy, once I got the hang of throwing, but taking meat from bone and removing skin for tanning before _carrying it all back_ to the castle wrapped in that bloody hide was _very smelly_.

 _But I was used to the mess and smell of death_.

That I could do it at all should have been a cause for concern. That I, a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old teenage girl, could do so without batting an eye and a smile on my face _was_ a cause for concern, and not just personally.

Six days we spent there, in that idyllic place, but only a two of those days was more than enough, even with Serana's loving presence and coffee-fueled innovation with my Ana, Sorine Jurard and Gunmar, a Master Smith, to begin realizing that I _didn't know how many people I've killed_. That realization shook me, had me becoming unfocused when I should have been trying to puzzle out how to get a crossbow bolt from the quiver to the cradle without touching it; instead I had Astrid the Bitch's hateful, accusing eyes flickering in my peripherals, the sounds of those poor Falkreath guards as that Ogrim Titan _tore them apart_ haunting the sounds of the forge as Gunmar hammered away and _oh Gods I'll never get the smell of blood off my hands_.

What truly made not only myself, but those closest to me, realize something was _indeed_ wrong was when I woke in the middle of the night after my first day in the castle, choked gasps of fear making my chest hurt, the images of fell-masked beings throwing me naked to troll-like bandits _burned into my mind_ … and what came after…

I all but ran to Serana's room, Isran's objections be _damned_ , and gripped her tightly till morning.

It was after the third day of this, with bags under my eyes and smelling faintly of both blood and lime (from tanning), that one of the younger Dawnguard members, a handsome young Nord named Agmaer, took me aside after breakfast and brought me to a small meeting hall with a circle of chairs.

Isran may have been a jackboot, but, as a former Vigilant, he was well-aware of a condition nearly all soldiers and adventurers suffer from: combat shock, a side-effect of surviving life-threatening situations where said survival required killing.

As such, he had the resident priest, a strange man named Florentius Baenius (who claimed to speak for Arkay; given my exposure to Heimskr and Hircine, I was only _slightly_ inclined to disbelieve such claims), organize a support group where people could talk to each other about their experiences in a safe environment.

Which I did, speaking of all the above things at length and with no small amount of tears, once everyone had gathered.

Agmaer was actually the reason the group had been founded, the Nord in question told me a little embarrassedly once my tears died down and Florentius argued quietly with 'Arkay'; his family's farm was attacked by Harkon's agents for some reason or another, the young man's entire family killed before he could return from hunting with his husky, Bran. Though he'd never been trained to fight properly, my fellow teenager managed to avenge most of his family with his father's axe, taking the bastards by surprise and cutting them down one by one... Four days of wandering with Bran later, he'd come across the Dawnguard recruiter, an Orc named Durak; one thing led to another and, he laughs lightly, an armored Bran wagging his tail under the chair, here he was.

My Ana attended as well, though her part in the group was, mostly, an advisory role for the female members of the Dawnguard (and to curb Florentius'… _exuberance_ ). Speaking of which, there was one other girl, the nineteen-year-old Sapphire, a former member of Riften's Thieves' Guild… _and bandit escapee_. So, we ended up chatting my first session away, me relating my experiences with bandits thus far, and Sapphire telling me not to regret even a single kill, before explaining why.

Her story was much the same as Agmaer's, except the swift vengeance part; she'd been captured and held prisoner, the bandits taking advantage of her over and over again, for _months_. Unlike the woman in the Pale, however, Sapphire held out long enough to gain the bandit's trust… then killed them all in the night. She'd been my age.

As the farm she'd lived on was burnt to the ground, and all her family slain, the hard-faced brunette eventually found herself in Riften; the Thieves' Guild seemed like a good idea at the time, she said, but two years of hiding in the _sewers_ (ew.), dealing with a bunch of pig-headed men with delusions of grandeur (in a _sewer_ , _ew_.), and barely enough jobs to put bread on her plate ( _why would you want to eat dinner in a **sewer**_ **, blegh!** )…

After poking me in the temple, which shut me up, Sapphire told me that her life changed the day Drevas walked into town, talked her out of fleecing a stable-boy, told her about the Dawnguard and how they could use an experienced archer, and dealt Maven Black-Briar's chief enforcer such a savage, glorious beating after the idiot basically told my Master that, by walking into Riften, he was now in this Maven woman's debt and to hand over his Toolbox… Sapphire laughed to herself as she told me she'd gone into the Ratway, picked up her bow and belongings, told the Thieves' Guild leader where and how far he could shove it, and caught up to Master Drevas just as he made the very same pass we'd gone through, not four days ago.

The older brunette wound up the story with touching words, "Having blood on your hands, even if those you made bleed _deserved it_ … that's a different kind of scar, like the ones Serana and I carry, from… from being raped," Sapphire forced the words out in a clipped voice, shaking her head and smiling at me before continuing, "That blood won't wash off any more than the scars stop hurting, but, if you let that guilt and shame define you, then the bastards may as well have killed _you_ instead. But if you accept that spilling that blood was _the right thing to do_ , and use a sense of justice as a balm for that shame,"

"And you have something to hold onto…" I added in a small voice, remembering a conversation in a bed, a million years ago.

Sapphire grinned, giving my Ana a thankful look before saying to me, "You got it, hon. Hold onto that purpose, no matter what it is, and don't let anyone or anything stop you from fulfilling it."

I was a good person.

I _had to be_.

There's no way Serana would like me if I wasn't a good person.

And speaking of archery, the work to improve _Stormbringer_ ended up taking five days and four nights of near-constant work; once I'd regained my convictions, I was able to put my all into getting the damned thing to do what we wanted, which was the furthest thing from easy.

The first issue was getting the bow to move back into position after a bolt left the cradle; Gunmar, unsurprisingly, as he _was_ a Master Blacksmith, came up with the solution: placing springs _inside_ the crossbow, right near the bow itself, that bounced the bolt cradle back onto the steam-powered conveyer that, when I pulled the lever next to the gem buttons, brought the bow into firing position. This essentially eliminated the need for the lever, so once we'd done that, Sorine switched out the old steam generator for an improved, twin-piston affair that was faster and more air-efficient than its predecessor.

As a result, instead of one bolt every five seconds, _Stormbringer_ could fire, re-draw, and fire again in the span of _two seconds_.

One bolt per second, _sixty_ per minute. Not bad… for _three days' work_. Honestly, compared to getting the bloody incredible crossbow to reload itself, that part was easy.

The problem of getting that bolt into the cradle without touching it was Serana and my responsibility, though, given my emotional state those first days, we were understandably delayed; even with Sorine working with us, the issue of adding _another_ enchantment on an already taxed-to-the-limit object nearly had us despairing.

Until Gunmar came to the rescue again.

Looking over Serana's shoulder, my girlfriend looking like she was about to rip her hair out, the majestically bearded Nord peered at the schematics spread out over the table for a moment; humming to himself, he then calmly addressed Sorine, who had the look of a wild animal with her gnashing teeth and wild hair, "Not that I'm well-learned in Enchanting, but… what if you removed the bolt cradle and replaced it with a pre-Enchanted one?"

A moment of stunned silence, before I replied in a voice hoarse from arcane arguments and therapeutic screaming, "While that is an _inspired_ idea-"

"And I can't _believe_ I didn't think of that," growled Sorine lowly, scribbling the idea onto a spare bit of paper.

"-there's still the issue of the spell itself," I finished, staring blankly at _Aetherial Symbology_ 's entries on Conjuration patterns; stupid book had been written in 4E105, so it had _nothing_ on Mark/Recall, which would have rendered our current issues null and void!

Gunmar hummed again, glancing over at the troll pen (exposure to its occupants going some ways toward lessening my fear of the beasts, though that fear was still there) for a moment before asking curiously, "Has anyone asked Drevas? He's been all over Tamriel, and rumor has it he knows a Telvanni Master Wizard personally- _oi!_ Watch it, Serana!" he called to my Ana's back as she dashed out of the room while Sorine and I screamed in self-depreciating disbelief; of fucking _course_ we should have asked Master Drevas, the only person I knew who was better at Conjuration than Serana! What kind of geniuses were we?!

Serana came back looking even more furious than when she'd left, and explained why, much to Sorine's exasperation and my own incredulous anger, " _Bound Arrow_. Which, apparently, is such an unused spell that only a few people know it even _exists_."

Once we'd finished pulling our collective hair out, we then had to modify an existing and incredibly hard to use spell pattern to create a crossbow bolt instead of an arrow, translate said esoteric spell formula into Elder Futhark Runes, and then carve those Runes ( _all 176 of them_ ) onto a _4-inch long piece of Dwemer metal_.

My Carving Charm wasn't precise enough for doing the last, either, so Gunmar, having the steadiest hands of the four of us, had to chisel each Rune into the cradle. _By hand_. Without making a mistake. If he hadn't been a Master Smith, we'd be S.O.L. on upgrading _Stormbringer_ ; not that the Nord didn't gripe about cramping hands and Sorine hovering as he tried to focus on the delicate work.

The result was everything I'd dreamed of _and more_.

 **. . . . .**

It didn't look much different, to Farkas' eyes, but if Hermione was grinning _that_ widely, it meant only good things for the future of the mission he found himself pressed into.

Haring about Falkreath with the buck-toothed lass left the young Companion of two minds; on one hand, he'd not seen that much action since the Whiterun crackdown, or that much loot. His current kit of Nordic carved armor, courtesy of that Gunmar fellow (he was no Eorlund, but in a few years he _might be_ ), had cost a pretty Septim, even with the discount, but not only was the extra protection worth the price, Farkas could easily afford it.

On the other hand, the Nord didn't know if he was actually _needed_ on this adventure; between Hermione's crossbow, Scales, Serana being… _Serana_ , and Thane Drevas, Farkas felt like he was an unneeded part of this group of legends-in-the-making.

When he'd confided in Hermione, seeing as she was the closest thing to a Shield-Sister as he could get, while Farkas supervised her hunting practice, the lass just raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Silly Farkas. You're one of those legends."

At his questioning grunt, she clarified, "Let's see… You've fought through a small army of bandits, vampires and draugr with Scales and me at your side, took on practically the _entire_ Dark Brotherhood with nothing but your claws and Scales and _won_. Mate, trust me, with how many bounties we pulled down in Falkreath, Farkas the Hound will be the toast of plenty of taverns throughout Skyrim."

Giving the required groan at the unwanted title he'd been saddled with (courtesy The Black Horse Courier), Farkas responded, "Not nearly as much as Hermione the Griffoness, Enchanter Extraordinaire," he grinned at the sour look on her face and nodded at a watchful Kresh's shadow, "Friend to Animals Everywhere."

The handful of mossy peat she flung at him was worth the blushing grin she'd had on her face afterward.

At her age, Farkas would've given anything to be touted in the broadsheets as 'an up-and-coming champion of justice and protector of Skyrim's way of life', though, now that he had a title and all the trimmings of being just that, he could why Hermione was annoyed by what she called 'silly nomenclatures'. Whatever that was…

Now, though: the Dawnguard was assembled just outside the doors of the castle, three piles of dirt arranged where there'd once been a firing range. According to the buck-toothed lass holding that crossbow like it was her child, normal targets wouldn't hold up to _Stormbringer_ , not with the improvements the crafting team placed on it.

Farkas was just glad Durak and that Agmaer lad brought a barrel of mead for the demonstration. Drinks and explosions, two great things that are even more enjoyable together.

Sorine kicked the demonstration off with a grin bright as Magnus, "Right, everyone, this is the final test firing of the Masterwork crossbow _Stormbringer_! Initially Enchanted by Drevas' apprentice Hermione Granger," said lass waves enthusiastically at everyone, "and Serana Volkihar," a shyer wave from the vampire member of Farkas' new Pack, "in Whiterun, it is the _very first_ Enchanted item in the history of Tamriel that has not two, not three, but _five_ separate enchantments placed on it!"

Cue brief muttering before the cute Breton went on, "What was once a prototype of a new crossbow I'd developed with Drevas' assistance, will now, through the combined efforts of myself, these two ladies, and our own Gunmar, be the bane of Harkon's _entire existence_! But enough grandstanding; Hermione, if you will?"

A bit of applause came out of the curious crowd as Farkas' partner stepped forward with a nervous grin on her face, "Erm, hi, everyone. Ahem. _Stormbringer_ works like this," holding up the crossbow so they could all see the glowing gems on the stock, Hermione explained each one, "If you put a little magic into one of these soul gem 'buttons', the enchantment on the crossbow changes; this example has a powerful frost spell, a hybrid fire/lightning spell, great for undead, a paralyze function for capture, and a spell that shreds whatever it hits; additionally, this bow no longer needs bolts,"

' _Wait, what?!_ ' was Farkas' immediate thought, along with most of the Dawnguard, though Thane Drevas didn't look surprised.

"As it uses a modified Bound Arrow spell to create the bolts directly from the Aurbis, as well as draw the bow automatically," while Farkas reeled at just how _deadly_ a weapon this now was, Hermione pointed out a small clip on the firing lever, "To fire, flip this switch back, tap a button," she pressed the Frost button, one of Farkas' favorites, as it wasn't as _loud_ as her explosion setting, "And select your target; bear in mind that you'll have to manually fire each shot by tapping the firing lever once the next bolt appears, though, at one bolt per second…" she took aim at one of the mounds of dirt.

 _Chack-FWUMP! Chack-FWUMP! Chack-FWUMP!_

Where was once a mound of dirt was now a steaming hill of permafrost. Farkas admitted he was _really_ impressed, then wondered if _that's_ why she insisted on placing Cutting Curses on both his and Drevas' bows.

The demonstration went on, with expected explosions and expletives erupting from all those in attendance. And drinking. Much drinking was had by all, along with demands by Isran for more of these crossbows, which Sorine assured were already in the works

It was, after all, the next morning that the party set out once more.

They had a vampire menace to resolve.

 **. . . . .  
15th Second Seed, 4E201  
Ancestor Glade, Falkreath  
. . . . .**

Another moth landed on the arm of my crossbow, waving its wings lazily as I stood guard behind a boulder, watching the tunnel.

Three days getting here, only to end up standing guard with Farkas, Kresh and Scales while Drevas and Serana did things with Elder Scrolls; while I'm sure it was a rather fascinating ritual occurring behind us, the Tower of Mzark had been more exposure to the eldritch objects than I'd _ever_ wanted.

One might think that, given my goal, I'd have more interest in the things, but between Master Drevas' warnings of madness or _worse_ when reading the Scrolls and the results of my studies in Breezehome, I was perfectly content to stay as far away as was safe from the things that both existed in reality and _didn't_ exist at any point in time.

So I put down some trap wards in the tunnel, just in case Harkon's minions came a-calling, set _Stormbringer_ to Lightning Helix, and settled for playing a few games of I Spy with Farkas and Kresh while we waited.

 _I spy, with my Daedric eye, something that starts with M._

"Moth," deadpanned I with no humor, glaring at one such insect making itself comfortable on my right gauntlet.

 _Wrong, mistress! Try again!_

"Is it 'M' again?" queried Farkas dryly from where he was propped against a canticle tree, an arrow at the ready and just as covered in moths as I was; at my nod, he grunted, "Moss."

 _Darn. The Blessed's turn, then, mistress._

"Your turn Farkas," reported I in boredom, another moth fluttering across my vision.

We were interrupted by Master Drevas' approach, heralded by his continuous swearing. We both looked back…

And I had to fight with all my strength not to collapse to the ground _laughing_! Farkas hardly-suppressed snort told me he wasn't much better off, and Scales didn't even _try_ hiding his amusement, cackling remorselessly at my mentor's current dilemma.

"Oh, sure, laugh it up you three," snarled the swarm of ancestor moths that sounded a _lot_ like Drevas of Mournhold! "Next time we need to read an Elder Scroll, one of _you_ can slap a piece of moth-bait to your armor and gallivant about."

It was working too, another dozen or so moths making a beeline for Drevas like children to a sweetmeat vendor; snickering as my willpower began to fail at this hilarious sight, I retorted, "Yeah, sure, Master. When Farkas or I find an Elder Scroll, we'll take one for the team."

"We'll even send you a postcard, so you can be there for the event," put in Farkas as we both gave into our humor, laughing while the mass of moths fumed in anger.

Before he could retort, however, a golden pulse of light suddenly _blazed_ from his silhouette! Once the spots in my vision faded, I saw that it looked more like that light was shining on him from _somewhere else_ , rather than Drevas glowing himself.

"Whoa!" Serana's voice came from nearby, "I, err, I guess that's what we were waiting for! Come on down then, Drevas. The Scrolls are all set up."

"Be right there," called Drevas before adding in a lower tone, "Provided I don't break my hip walking back down there," and off he waddled with Farkas and my laughter at his back.

It was another ten minutes of I Spy before the first of my wards went off, blowing the legs of a vampire clean off and sending the fiend sailing into view, further into the dark tunnel. An inhuman roar, all stone and the promise of death, came soon after.

Harkon's agents had found us.

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N:**

 **… Longest chapter yet. Not counting date/location breaks, scene breaks, and A/Ns, this chapter is 16,293 words long, 31 pages in MS Word.**

 **…Once again, I respond to reviews in PM's.**

 **… Sorry about the cliffy. Thanks for reading!**

 **~Baked**

Next Time: The Forgotten Vale Part 1: The Betrayed


	12. Chapter 11: The Betrayed Part 1

…

 **Federal regulations require me to inform the reader that this chapter…**

 **…is looking _pretty good._**

 **Also, the disclaimer is at the top of Chapter 1, 2 if you count the Prologue.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
Chapter 11  
The Betrayed: Part 1  
Last of the Snow Elves  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .  
15th Second Seed, 4E201  
Ancestor Glade, Falkreath  
. . . . .**

Blinking away the _Gods-awful_ spots in his eyes and shaking his head, Drevas came to a decision, then and there: ' _If getting Hermione home involves using these Scrolls, I'm making that mad bastard Signus do it. Fuck, that was_ weird _._ '

"Are you okay?" Oh, right. Serana, "You went white as the snow."

Giving the three Elder Scrolls staked in the soft earth a suspicious glance, he replied mildly, "Other than feeling like someone threw dirt in my eyes and walloped me with a hammer, yes, Serana, I'm fine," as he watched the vampire relax slightly, Drevas added cheerfully, "As a happy plus, it worked, thank the _Gods_."

That perked her right up, "Well, it _better_ have, or I'd be having words with Dexion; so, did you find out where the Bow is?"

Drevas answered as he packed up the Scrolls, taking the Draw Knife for good measure as he thought, ' _A ritual that renders_ decades _of meditation and training null and void; not something to leave lying around, especially in Falkreath_ ,' "We're going to the Reach; some cave called Darkfall, in the middle of friggin' _nowhere_. In fact," grunting, he hefted the Toolbox onto his back and smirked at Serana, "It's about half a day's march from where I found Sorine and her mudcrabs."

Rolling her eyes and chuckling, Serana muttered, " _Of course_ ," before adding in a louder voice, "Well, let's get a move on. No sense giving my _father_ a chance to catch up to us!"

 _Boom!_

Both Dragonborn and noble vampire whipped their heads up towards the entrance to the Glade, a Gargoyle's roar following the sound of one of Hermione's traps going off.

 _Blam!_

 _Cha-BZZ! Cha-BZZ!_

 ** _BZZK!_** _Cha-BZZ!_

 _"SCREECH!" Cha-BZZ!_

 _"C'mere, fucker!" **THOOM!** Cha-BZZ!_

After the second sound of _Stormbringer_ discharging, Drevas was already halfway up the path to where he'd last seen his apprentice, _Starfall_ in one hand and Ebonyflesh rippling over his skin as Scales let out an animal war-cry; Serana herself ignored the path, using her claws to scale the short cliff with ease, lips curled into a fanged snarl and eyes flashing, no doubt seeking to flank the bastards before they got to her beloved.

Rounding the final corner, heart pounding, Drevas arrived just in time to see the top half of one of Harkon's peons go flying over his head, burning like a torch. Turning his attention to the tunnel and readying a Thunderbolt, Drevas' grim face instantly gave way to pleased surprise.

Harkon's ambushers were in pieces, all eight vampires, three thralls and four Gargoyles scattered throughout entrance tunnel amidst small craters ( _Stormbringer_ ), viscera (Scales licking his chops with a smug look on his beaky face), blast scarring from the runic traps, and the odd arrow from Farkas, the Companion currently removing his sword from a Gargoyle's chest. Hermione herself chirped, "Clear!" and rose from the boulder she'd taken cover behind, an ice spike sticking out of the opposite side.

Savoring the look of pleased shock on Serana's face for a moment, Drevas holstered his mace and, grinning, addressed the other two members of the party in a mock-hurt tone, "Really, you two? You couldn't save even _one_ for us?"

"Run faster next time, old Elf," growled Farkas with a grin of his own, before giving his victim a kick, "Not that these silly fucks put up much of a fight- _ow!_ What?!" the Werewolf glared at Serana, rubbing the back of his head where she'd cuffed him.

Shaking her head, Serana elucidated, "No wonder Hermione swears so much; you're a bad influence." Drevas bit his tongue. _Hard_ ; his jaw still had a twinge in it from where she'd punched him, and reminding the woman of her former religious devotions might make the situation worse.

"Pot, meet kettle," was Hermione's sweetly delivered riposte; her girlfriend's surprised gaze falling on her, the younger Dragonborn laughed, "Honestly, Ana, if anyone's a bad influence on poor, innocent me," a snicker came from both Farkas and Scales, while Serana herself almost looked hurt…

Until his _little runty smart-ass of an apprentice_ jerked a thumb Drevas' way, "It's Mr. Reckless over here."

"Watch it, brat; you wouldn't be _alive_ if it weren't for me." His retort, sadly, didn't have much effect on the crowd, seeing as they were all now sniggering at _him_ ; groaning, Drevas decided to get a move on before his self-esteem took another hit, "We've got a three-day march ahead of us, through the Reach," that sobered them up, "and that's if we move quickly and manage to avoid the Forsworn; when we get to Falkreath, Hermione, Serana, stock up on restoratives and ingredients. I don't _think_ we need more arrows…" he looked questioningly at Farkas for confirmation.

Who shook his head, carved steel helm keeping his shaggy hair from flying all over the place, though he put in, "Gonna need a recharge on this soon, though, 'Mione; was never any good at that enchanting stuff," Farkas hefted the Dwemer greatsword for emphasis as the party made their way back to Magnus' light. ' _And a night at the inn, hopefully_ ,' Drevas thought, another annoying twinge running across his lower back.

Scoffing as the old Dunmer tried unsuccessfully to remember when he'd last been struck in that area, his apprentice drawled, "It doesn't _need_ recharging, Farkas."

Reaching the mountainside entrance and taking a look about with Scales (' _No reinforcements. Good._ '), Drevas heard the Companion's confused response, "But… it's not cutting as good as before, and Vilkas said-"

Scoffing again, Hermione decided to elaborate, " _Vilkas_ wouldn't know the first thing about _my_ way of enchanting; Farkas, in the time you've known me, have I _ever_ had to recharge _Stormbringer_?"

' _Wait,_ what?'

Locking his foot next to a sturdy rock (the path was steep, his armor was heavy, and it was a _long_ way down), Drevas looked back at the rest of the party; Serana was bringing up the rear and looked bemused for some reason, while Farkas was blinking in thought, glancing between his greatsword and Hermione, and his apprentice just looked _smug_.

Presently, she continued in a lecturing tone, "The reason it's not cutting as well as when I finished it isn't the enchantment's fault, it's _yours_. You know how I magicked the soul gem _into_ the grip?" at Farkas' wary nod, she concluded with a 'there you go' gesture, "The enchantment's powered by a small amount of your personal magic. Just pump a little into your hand and- yeah! Like that!" the Dwemer blade's edges rippled with a white sheen, making the hulking Nord jerk in surprise.

' _What in the hells_ ,' Drevas managed to keep his face neutral as disbelief filled his thoughts; he knew Hermione was skilled, _and_ that she was capable of applying anything she studied within hours of learning about it, but this… ' _Four days' of Enchanting training and two months' experience and practice, and she revolutionizes the entire field of study_.' He presumed, anyway; old and well-learned though he was, Enchanting wasn't Drevas' forte, though he was pretty damned sure most weapon enchantments didn't work that way.

On the other hand, "You're teaching Farkas magic, Hermione?" the older Dragonborn turned back to the path and Scales, who was halfway down the mountain already, "Dragons and vampires not enough of a threat to Skyrim's peace for you?"

Around the young man's growled ' _Fuck off, Dunmer._ ', Hermione replied with a smile in her tone, "Only the Flare and Frostbite spells, Master Drevas; and don't be mean to Farkas! _You're_ the one who insisted on fallbacks, and you can't honestly say you'd be expecting a fireball in the face from the big, burly Nord with a sword."

"More common than you'd think, 'Mione," put in Serana gently, "But I'm _sure_ Drevas sees your point."

And he did, at that. Plus, it warmed the old Mer's heart that his apprentice was taking the initiative to train others in becoming unpredictable. It, being unpredictable in combat, was just one reason why he'd survived all these years of adventuring; if they didn't know what you could do, they wouldn't know what hit them until it was too late. From Farkas' report and Hermione's own stories, it was one of the deciding factors in surviving their weeks in Falkreath's forests… though he was _still_ coming to terms with the news of the Dark Brotherhood's demise.

Not that wasn't proud of his buck-toothed apprentice, because he _was_ ; Drevas doubted he'd have done _half_ as well, were the him of a hundred-odd years ago and half a continent away placed in the same situation as Hermione Granger.

' _She just may survive what's to come, Gods willing_ ,' he mused before mentally sorting through the myriad tasks he'd taken on since becoming Thane, making sure there was nothing on his planned route that required the veteran adventurer's attention.

Coming up dry, he allowed a small smile to cross his lips, ' _If we make good time, we can camp near the cave, take a day or two to relax, make sure everyone's rested before looking for that bow_.'

His plan, once related to the party as they traversed Falkreath's highlands, was met with quite a bit of enthusiasm and agreement, much to Drevas' private pleasure.

Though he continued to ignore the persistent twinge, figuring they'd wait till they made camp in the Reach to check it out; old though Drevas knew he was, it wasn't the first time a random twinge popped up like this.

 **. . . . .  
Morning, 19th Second Seed, 4E201  
Druadach Redoubt, The Reach  
. . . . .**

The first day after the Ancestor Glade, just after we left Falkreath, it rained, slowing our progress across Whiterun's plains enough that we had to camp under an iron-grey sky.

The second day, after passing through Rorikstead without incident, we spotted Fjoristead through a gap in the crags north of the town, the grey-walled outpost coming along nicely, if the distant sounds of hammers and saws was any indication.

A few hours later, however, saw us getting ambushed by a squad of Forsworn with more bravery than sense; _honestly_ , I have no idea what made them think four well-armed and armored adventurers with a dark-blue clannfear meant ' _easy pickings_ ', though there seemed to be a dearth of common sense where these people were concerned, given their choices of weapons and armor (or lack thereof, in the women's case, though the idea of Serana wearing something like that… _mmm_ ).

To be fair, I shouldn't have been surprised on the common sense side of things, seeing as… well, _Briarhearts_. Seeing one of those things actually going toe-to-toe with Drevas, ignoring arrows, spells and missing limbs (I blew it's fucking _arm_ off and it didn't even scream!) as my mentor tried his hardest to shatter the thing not only terrified me, but made me wonder both how and _why_ the Forsworn did that to themselves.

Thank goodness I learned from my mistake in Blackreach, and asked Serana why rather than how. The answer: a better edge against better armed and armored opponents, which the Empire and Skyrim in general had in abundance.

I'd explain the _how_ , but for two reasons: I didn't learn how the Forsworn did _that_ till much later, and… well, if just asking _why_ made someone like _Serana_ shudder in revulsion…

Yeah, _no thanks_.

Anyway, once the Forsworn were resting in pieces, we camped off the road to the north of their redoubt (Broken Tower; imaginative, the Forsworn aren't), for the night, forded the river in the morning…

…and spent the rest of that third day fighting to our current location. For some strange reason, the Forsworn didn't want anyone coming this way and set up several ambushes along the road to ward off travelers (or capture them, but, according to Farkas, that was rare). Honestly, despite their fierce determination, the defending forces really should've turned tail and ran after my mentor roasted one of their squads with a fireball, or when my girlfriend snagged one of their beefier brutes and hurled him into a tree.

I, on the other hand, was used to my opponents not doing the sensible thing and running when _Stormbringer_ blew them apart; you'd _think_ they'd take a hint and bugger off once the explosions started but _nooo_ , whatever they're guarding is too important to abandon. Idiots.

As an aside, once we actually got to the redoubt and Farkas killed their last Briarheart, I got my first good look at the shaman/abominations that were the spiritual leaders of these barbaric people: Hagravens.

Big, hooked noses, hunched backs, faces haggard and covered in warts, feathers sprouting from odd places, hands and feet reminding me of _Hungers_ , these half-human horrors were the bane of bedtime stories and campfire tales from one end of Skyrim to the other, and for good reason! Magically powerful, ruthlessly sadistic _and_ of a generally cruel disposition, virtually everyone, save the Forsworn, views them as incarnations of evil only slightly less despicable than the Daedra; given Tamriel's history, _that's saying something_!

This particular bitch was holed up in the back of the cave, but, seeing as we'd handily dealt with her guards, she shouldn't have been much of a challenge.

Then she raised the dead bodies of _everyone we'd just fought_ , including that fucking Briarheart, and joined the fight as the small horde of undead fell at our backs.

Which my Ana thought was just _adorable_ , right before she commandeered control of the Hagraven's re-animated guards and made them attack the bitch instead. Moral of the story: don't try to out-necromancer my Ana. She'll make you look bad as she kills you.

As for the redoubt itself, a quick check of the barrels and crates in the place showed it to be well-stocked with both food and potions ingredients, which we shamelessly appropriated; Master Drevas figured it must have been one of the major Forsworn caches, supplying the surrounding camps and redoubts.

Not that I cared much about what the Forsworn got up to; I'd already put them in the same category as bandits and Harkon's minions: lower than cow shite. Of much greater interest was what Serana did to make sure the jerks didn't move back in once we moved on.

"Now, pay attention, 'Mione," my Ana lectured gently. We'd just broken our fast after spending the night sleeping in the cave; sure, it was smelly, but at least it wasn't outside or _Riften_. Ana was standing near the far wall from the cavern's main entrance, painting a Rune on the wall as I attentively observed, helmetless and ignoring Kresh's sniffing about; the paint was a tincture made of snowberries, spriggan sap and a ground-up Hagraven claw (no guesses where _that_ came from!) to increase the resonation of the desired spell effect. In this case, Ana explains, "This is the basic Rune for a Daedric binding. There _are_ others, more complicated and specific, but this one produces the longest-lasting effect, and works with most Daedra."

Where were Drevas and Farkas during this? Well, we heard a dragon roaring during breakfast, down south, so my mentor ran an advanced Healing spell over his lower back (he'd been getting lower back pains and didn't bother telling any of us, the arse!) and headed down that way, dragging Farkas away with him; not that the big guy was complaining, seeing as his only other choices were hanging with us girls or staring at the nearby rapids Scales went fishing in, though the clannfear was currently camped outside the cave entrance, now that the men were off dragon hunting.

I was brought back to the present by my Ana stepping back and admiring her work: an Oht, the Daedric 'O', dominated the center, and was ringed by glowing purple lettering in the same script. Not the easiest language to learn, given that it was invented by the Dremora Kyn, but the alphabet in general isn't too hard to learn, and can be written in any language, when using magic anyway; the Rune on the wall used Aldmeris syntax, for instance, and had words like 'SUMMON', 'BIND', 'GUARD', 'AREA' and 'EVERLASTING' written into the borders. I felt giddy looking at this new (to me) piece of magic; Serana told me she was more comfortable binding Daedra to a location than practicing Necromancy, and, seeing the symmetrical beauty of the softly-glowing violet circle, I could see why!

Turning a smile on me, Serana explained how it worked, "Now, you already know how to Conjure a Scamp, so I won't go over the patterns involved, seeing as the only difference between a Scamp and a Dremora is the power required to bring that ideal into Mundus. Binding a Daedra is actually rather easy, if you've made a good rapport with your summons," she gave Kresh a look before continuing, "The only difference from a normal Conjuration, here, is that you prep the spell," a swirl of purple magic whirled about her hand, sizzling audibly as my Ana stressed, " _but_ , instead of attaching the 'Thread' symbol to your magic, attach it to the circle instead."

Fixing her gaze on the Rune in question, the sizzling sound changed to a higher, whining keen, the circle glowing brighter with the audible change.

"You _could_ use your own blood to make the binding stronger," my Ana added over her shoulder, my eyes wide as the Rune's magic made my hair stand on end, "but I wouldn't recommend that; there are quite a few _very nasty_ things that can be done with blood, and not all of them involve Necromancy. It's safer, and easier in the long run, to use the ingredients I've shown you and the land's magic instead; I'll show you my mother's notes on the matter tonight, as we're supposed to be taking it easy."

Before I could ask what she meant about other uses for blood (though something Drevas said about blood once niggled at the back of my mind), the purple light in her hand pulsed, then dropped to the floor in front of the circle. Ana stepped back, closer to me, as both Rune and Conjuration spell flared, the deep purple light on the ground pulsing one more time…

Suddenly, a red-and-black armored humanoid stood there, and by armored I mean this being made Master Drevas' kit look like a few pieces of paper: molded to represent flames, Daedric runes running over the edges, the cuirass giving the impression of some hideous, unnamable beast, the heavy plate mail looked like it could take a hit from a Dwemer Centurion and keep going. Going by the scuffs, dents and signs of repairs, such past battles might just have happened, at that!

It took me a whole two seconds to realize that this ridiculously over-armored creature, a Dremora, was not only helmetless, but was glaring at me with dark red eyes, the Mark of Molag Bal painted on his snarling face.

As for weapons, the demon carried a wicked-looking sword that reminded me of pictures of Akaviri weapons, a quiver of arrows and Daedric bow, and a positively _ancient_ canvas satchel, secured beneath a spiked pauldron; no doubt there were hidden blades and poisons hidden throughout this creature's armor.

Oh, and I was returning its glare with equal force, Kresh snarling with disgust between my ears; I didn't much like Daedra (barring Kresh and Scales, of course), and most of the books relating them didn't paint a very positive picture of the war-obsessed race that was Dremora, the Deathless Kyn of Oblivion.

Ignoring our staring match, Serana gave a satisfied huff and introduced us, "Hermione Granger, Griffoness of Whiterun, Most Favored of Hircine," the Dremora made an odd twitch, a dark grin blossoming on my face as my Ana continued, "Gefjun, Dragon of Far-Sight, my beloved," she cleared her throat and gestured at the Deathless One, "Allow me to introduce Valkynaz Kmoz'eus of the Deathbringer Kyn of Coldharbour, veteran of too many sorties and battles to name in a single day, though I'm fairly certain he was at Red Mountain in 1E700," great, now the _Dremora_ was grinning, "and Chief Strategist of his Kyn."

" **Though I no longer hold the last, after Kvach** ," Kmoz's voice was harsh as iron on stone and as cruel as I expected; breaking his glare, he addressed Serana, " **Long millennia have passed since you last summoned me, Favored of Molag. Who is this _nauthing_?**" the fucker gestured dismissively at me-

-only to jerk back with a cry of pain and hate, Kresh having snapped out like lightning and ripped a chunk off the Dremora's forearm, _Mind your tongue, slave, or I shall tear thee asunder!_

"Yeah, what Kresh said," growled I as my Ana kept the Dremora from retaliating with a stern warning. Call _me_ a nauthing… don't know what that is, but it doesn't sound complimentary.

Though the uncouth beast apparently heard me, as it healed the bite with a red-gold spell, " **Kresh!?** " said Daedric Hound let out a growling bark, hackles raised and teeth bared; Kmoz'eus' brow furrowed as he stared at my shadow's swishing tail and pale white eyes, before fixing me with a calculating look, " **Strange times, these… So, Serana, you summoned me, for the first time since the Second Era, to keep watch over this… _rustic_ cave, have you**?" really, I couldn't much blame the look of disgust the Dremora gave his surroundings. The Forsworn need a new decorator like a mace in the face, preferably _both_.

Nodding, my Ana clarified, "As well as the surrounding area; a group of badly-equipped raiders, the Forsworn, have infested Skyrim's Reach. Seeing as this is one of their redoubts, and given the trouble they gave us getting here…"

" **Say no more,** " waved Kmoz'eus, before he glanced between us, grinning at my Ana, " **Your 'beloved', you say? You know what she is, little Hunter?** "

Oh, he was talking to me? "Yeah, I do," shrugged I, "Doesn't much matter to me, though; I care for her, she cares for me," my Ana slid an arm about my shoulders with an agreeing smile, which was greatly appreciated; a thought came to my mind, then, so I asked, "You've been around for millennia, yes?"

The Valkynaz gave an affirmative grunt, ' _I knew spending all that time with Farkas would pay off!_ ' so I followed up with, tentatively, "What, err, rumors do your Kyn have, concerning Drevas of Mournhold?"

Huh. So _that's_ what a Dremora looks like when it's startled. Interesting, though his response was… odd, to say the least, " **Why? Have you run afoul the Oblivion Walker?** "

What the what?! ' _Kresh?'_

 _Tis your mentor's title amongst the Daedric hosts, mistress_ , came the Alpha's calm reply, _I was under the impression you knew this, hence my silence on the matter_.

' _That's fine_ ,' I assured him, wondering what Oblivion Walker even meant, though my Ana's tensing didn't bode well for what such a title _could_ mean; to the Dremora, I said in my brightest, most innocent voice, "Oh, no. He's my mentor; commissioned my armor and everything!"

And that's how I got a Dremora to laugh, though its reply implied that this wasn't such a good thing, " **HAHAHA! The Oblivion Walker, teaching a tiny Dragonborn that cares for one of Coldharbour's Daughters! And Hircine's Most Favored at that; ha! Sanguine and Sheogorath are no doubt having a laugh at the Walker's expense!** " and he continued chuckling, while I appreciated the idea that I might never understand Daedric humor.

Around an unamused sniff that only one of noble birth could pull off, Serana's voice was a _bit_ harsher, this time, "Yes, well, we're heading up north a bit to investigate Deep Folk Crossing. _Please_ don't antagonize Drevas, Kmoz'eus; after all," she gave a fanged grin as the Dremora stopped laughing and started gaping at us both, "he'll have just finished killing a dragon with naught but a Werewolf for company, and won't much appreciate your… _unique_ sense of humor."

I grinned at the Dremora's spluttered assurances to the contrary as I turned to Serana's and my room; well, cubicle would be a better description, actually, what with the walls being merely hide partitions for modesty's sake. There was another such ramshackle construction, for Drevas, on the other side of the cave; Farkas didn't really need to sleep, but kept his bedroll next to the redoubt's entrance. I was pleased by these arrangements, not only on account of the privacy afforded my girlfriend and I, but the touching thought that Farkas positioned himself in a way that said, 'If I can't sleep, I'll guard you lucky scamps'.

Such were the focus of my thoughts as I stripped out of my armor and changed into the outfit I'd worn back at Castle Dawnguard and collected the picnic basket, filled the previous night with our lunch… and a few, ahem, 'specially prepared delicacies', made by myself for this private excursion.

What? We were supposed to be resting, so why not enjoy ourselves while investigating the nearby Dwemer constructions? And it's not like I was leaving _Stormbringer_ or my wand behind; that was just _asking_ for it.

Buttoning up my blouse with a cheeky grin (I'd removed my bindings, leaving nothing between my breasts and the soft, warm silk), I turned at the sound of the curtain-acting-as-a-door rustling, revealing my Ana, braids taken out, her silky ebony hair pulled into a ponytail, smiling brightly, "All ready to go, 'Mione?"

"Just a second," chirped I, sitting on the camp bed to buckle my boots, asking wryly, "Are all Dremora… you know?"

"Jerks?" my Ana grinned; at my sheepish nod, she returned it and explained, "They hold no love for us Mortal Kyn, though I get sweet-roll points for, _technically_ , being a Daedric creature myself, not that it counts for much," she ended with a laugh as I hopped to my feet, snatching up the basket.

"Well," mulled I, "maybe they're just jealous; seems to me," I went on, walking at my Ana's side as we headed for the cave's exit, "Mundus got all the good bits of the deal. Rolling fields, pretty mountains, gorgeous waterfalls, plenty of delicious food, lovely cities-"

"Okay, but _Riften_ , though."

I rolled my eyes, skipping forward a couple steps into Magnus' light, "I never said it was _perfect_ , my Ana… though," I smiled warmly at her as she followed me outside, Scales perking up next to the softly steaming fire-pit where he'd been munching on a trout, "with you living here, it nearly is."

"Aww, my 'Mione, you're so sweet!" Serana gushed, pink spiderwebs blooming across her grinning face, much to my own delight.

My grin was still in place as I bid Scales, "Keep an eye on things, mate! And don't let Drevas kill the Dremora!" the clannfear's chirrup of happy agreement followed us as we made our way west, the mist of the rapids marking our path.

 **. . . . .  
Noonday, 19th Second Seed, 4E201  
Deep Folk Crossing, The Reach  
. . . . .**

Some days, Serana wondered at her luck since Drevas woke her up.

On one hand, there was what happened immediately after: attacked by three dragons while crossing the north-western wastes of the Pale, dodging Thalmor patrols as they followed the coast north of Solitude (the Dragonborn's explanation at the time filled the ancient vampire with trepidation at how much the world was changed, as well as incredulous awe at how such a knowledgeable person could have so much hatred for the Altmer, even if it was just a faction) …

And then there was the meeting with her _father_ , in Castle Volkihar's main hall; Serana thought she knew of hatred, fury, and bloodthirst. She _was_ a Daughter of Coldharbour, after all…

 _"The next time we meet, Grand Champion of Molag Bal, the God-Ancestor will drink deep your unlife, whilst She of the Infinite Energies flays your damned soul, and I will **smile**."_

… but she'd never before met Drevas of Mournhold, survivor of the failed Vvardenfell Expedition in 4E70, where three hundred explorers, researchers, mages and warriors went to that ash-choked island in search of relics or survivors of the Red Year.

The Dark Elf that brought Serana to her _father_ , who all but spat in the mad bastard's face when offered the blood of a noble vampire, was one of the eight people who came back, the records of the failed endeavor either destroyed or sealed by the Morrowind Royal Council. Serana discovered this during the weeks that followed her return; although, until she went to Castle Dawnguard, where Drevas confirmed the story (with a sour face and much griping), she'd been under the impression that the Elf mentioned briefly in _The Fourth Era Timeline_ was some other, long-dead Mer.

Not that she was complaining; Serana needed someone who not only knew what they were doing, but could survive fighting her _father's_ minions, could help her save Tamriel from the madman's ambitions.

But if someone'd told her, when she was young, that not only would she break ties with Old Molag, but that, in the process of trying to stop her _madman of a father's_ plan, she'd one day be having a _delightful_ picnic lunch with a buck-toothed Dragonborn, who she'd also be dating and tutoring, Serana probably would've tortured the poor idiot to death and reanimated their corpse to act as her personal butler.

But here she was, relaxing on a blue-white checkered quilt in the shade of a prodigious pine tree, the pleasant sounds and smells of nature providing the couple occupying said quilt with a calming ambience that was nearly surpassed by the view; the mists of the Reach spread out before them, Dwemer constructions protecting the pair from prying eyes, the Throat of the World shining like a golden spire in the sun, shafts of light spearing through the overcast skies…

" _Ana…_ " oh, and Hermione Granger, her beloved, Dragonborn, Hircine's Most Favored, sitting across her and giving the older woman a toothy grin that set Serana's soul _aflame_.

As surreal the picnic was, what with treats and wine that Hermione made with blood (not her own, though, except the _amazing_ red wine), what was eating at Serana's mind wasn't the peaceful scene, but that she was sharing it with someone who genuinely _cared_ about her.

But she'd woolgathered enough, and sighed contentedly, "'Mione… _Gods_ , dear, it's been so long since I could actually _taste_ food."

Serana's beloved just smiled wider, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

"It… damn my upbringing, but it feels like you're buttering me up for something," observed Serana even as she mentally slapped herself; Hermione wasn't the sort of person that did favors only to ask for them! ' _Damn you to the Void, **Harkon**.'_

Then her beloved blushed furiously, before glaring at her shadow, " _Kresh!_ S-Shut up and go watch the bridge!" though her shadowy Daedric companion's inclination toward communicating telepathically brought no shortage of amusement (and a _little_ worry, in spite of recent events) to the Daughter of Coldharbour, who covered up a laugh with her hand as Hermione turned beet red and grumbled, " _Friggin' mutt,_ now I can't stop thinking about it."

"About what, love?" asked Serana teasingly.

Hermione bit her lip even as her blush intensified, and glanced through her bangs at the older woman, "N-never you mind, my Ana… it was perverted," she added at Ana's (Serana _loved_ the pet name thing they had going) raised eyebrow; shaking her head, 'Mione went on, though slightly crestfallen, "But… no, my Ana. I… just wanted to have a nice time with you; with what's ahead of us…"

"Mmm," nodding, Serana moved closer to her beloved and cupped her face with a hand, "I'm sorry, love. This… honestly, this was _wonderful!_ " there was the grin, that reminded Serana of the sunrise! "My… hesitations… have more to do with how I grew up, than how I feel in regards to you, my 'Mione."

"Well, bugger you upbringing," huffed Hermione before she darted in and pecked Serana on the lips, ' _Gods, they're so soft…_ ' grinning, the younger woman purred assuredly, "I'll just have to give you some new memories, so you know how much I care for you!" and finished with a nod, a motion that said 'That's that!' to Serana's eyes.

A plan Serana wholeheartedly agreed with, though she didn't voice her concurrence; those soft lips of her beloved looked so very lonely, so the older woman decided to give them due attention.

It wasn't long before, instead of Serana kneeling before a reclining Hermione, the object of the vampire's affections was straddling the older woman's waist as she laid on the quilt, kissing her dizzy; hands roaming over her darling's silk-clad waistline, her 'Mione's fingers tracing the swell of her breasts through her canvas blouse…

' _Please, oh **please** , whatever Gods have given me this rapture,_' prayed Serana while her love's tongue danced with hers, ' _DON'T LET ANYONE INTERRUPT THIS TIME!_ '

She didn't pray often, but it seemed as though Serana's plea was heard; nipping and sucking briefly on her lower lip, Hermione gave her a loving look, nuzzling her nose before kissing the line of Serana's jaw. One hand slid up the valley of Serana's chest, while a thigh rubbed against her (currently, but that was subject to change, if the mounting heat of Serana's passion was any judge) skirt-clad groin; she had to nibble her lip as her 'Mione found her neck, _at last_ , but nothing could stop the soft, appreciate mewl her throat made in response to her love's attentions.

" _You like?_ " hot breath whispered over Serana's ear, the questing hands of her lover stilling.

She nodded with nary a thought, pressing herself closer and breathing against Hermione's neck, " _Oh, yes my 'Mione. Yes!"_

Around a soft giggle came the next question, dexterous fingers fiddling with the top button of Serana's blouse, " _Ready to find out how much I_ don't _know, my Ana?_ " a knee pressed into her wanting sex-

-releasing an _inferno_ of desire all throughout the Daughter of Coldharbour's being. ' _Dibella's discarded smallclothes, she really_ does _know what she's doing!_ ' thought Serana as she helped her 'Mione undress her.

 **. . . . .**

Contentedly lying nude on their picnic quilt, tracing the lines of her love's muscled waist with a finger, an equally sated and nude Hermione happily nuzzling her chest, Serana didn't remember answering that huskily breathed question… _vocally_ , anyway, though she was _very sure_ to make her appreciation of her love's ministrations well and loudly known, much to the noble vampire's mild embarrassment; in spite of her upbringing and her Testing and her Ascension…

 _No one ever made her scream that wantonly_ , Daedra, vampire or otherwise, and the cause was so _freeing_ and _beautiful_ that Serana felt compelled to return the favor. With interest.

Hermione hadn't been rough with her, taking things slowly, finding all the points where Serana would keen the loudest, moan in _just the right way_ ; so, Serana did the same! They were both researchers, after all, and this was just one more field of study, though the benefits of this new discovery, making love to her 'Mione, _far outstripped_ anything Serana found in any school of magic!

Though her beloved's _inspired_ use of shock magic during their copulation… well, it gave Serana ideas for a future where they could do this in a less open setting; if anyone'd come across the bridge whilst _that_ was happening, Hermione shining with sweat and keening appreciatively, Serana kissing her ankle and rubbing herself against her love's lower lips, a flick of shock arcing between them with every thrust, bringing them both _closer and closer to the edge_ …

Embarrassment would've been the _last_ thing on Serana's mind, if such an event as being discovered occurred. Anyone stupid enough to interrupt their lovemaking would've died swiftly and painfully.

Which reminded her, "Kresh being quiet, hmm?" Serana asked, stroking her 'Mione's smoothly muscled hip.

"Mm-hmm," nodded her love, before looking up at her, smiling radiantly, "He says there's a chest, Dwemer make, bunch of broken lockpicks about it, 'round fifteen yards that way," and pointed upriver, towards High Rock.

Glancing that way briefly (it was overgrown and rocky, but their boots were fit for the job), Serana looked back to Hermione just in time to get another kiss, muskier that usual with their recent joining.

Once their quotas for kisses were sated, Serana 'hmm-ed' and summed up, "A delightful picnic, followed by a _wonderful meal_ ," Hermione giggled and tickled Ana's side, making her guffaw briefly before she finished, "and possible treasures on top of that?! Hermione," the younger woman was straddling her waist again, having won the tickle skirmish, grinning impishly down at a smirking Serana, "how much of this was set up?"

Serana's beloved huffed, though her humor didn't fade, "Ana, beyond the picnic, and, yes, _fine_ , the after-lunch 'meal', I had all of a night to plan this out… _now_ ," she slapped Serana's abs (" _EEP!"_ ) and pounced to her feet, looking about for her clothes, "last one dressed has to chide Master Drevas for not taking care of himself!"

Freely laughing as she rushed to make herself decent once more, Serana praised her luck and the decision, made when she left Castle Volkihar with all her worldly belongings on her back, to be less like her parents and more compassionate, more like how she _wanted to be_.

Because, on one hand, Serana's life (or unlife) was less than ideal…

But, on the other hand, the dark-haired woman mused, watching her love open a Masterwork Dwemer lock with a grin and flick of her wand…

On the other hand, Serana owed Drevas a debt greater than any treasury, for introducing her to the sunny, stubborn, indomitable, intelligent, loving force of nature that was Hermione Granger.

Serana wouldn't have it any other way.

 **. . . . .  
Afternoon, 19th Second Seed, 4E201  
Druadach Redoubt, The Reach  
. . . . .**

Farkas was of two minds, in the case of the Dremora in the cave.

For one, it was a fucking _Dremora_ ; he didn't know what the vampire was thinking, leaving one of those demons to its own devices in the place they were camped. That it grinned and welcomed Thane Drevas and himself back from their hunt just…

Not for the first time, the young man considered going Wolf and tearing the bloodsucker apart; were it not for the fact that Hermione would slaughter him with ease, he might have tried it. _That's_ how angry he was.

Then again…

The hulking Nord glanced at Thane Drevas, sour-faced and reading a book on the other side of the campfire, absently scratching a dozing Scales behind the fringe with his free hand.

Farkas didn't know someone could grind their teeth _that_ loud, until Drevas did just that, on seeing what Serana thought of as a "security measure"; sure, the vampire _said_ she was leaving some measures behind, to make sure the Forsworn wouldn't come a-calling, but Farkas had a feeling Drevas disagreed with her choice of guardian.

Which, given the events of the Underforge, was so fucking _ironic_ , ' _The bloody Elf summons a fucking Daedra, then gets his panties in a knot over a Dremora. What's up with that?'_

Not that the young Werewolf cared _too_ much about the situation; after all, he _was_ a bit busy getting steadily drunk on mead whilst waiting on the boar meat stew cooking over the fire, so the personal feelings of his current boss didn't much bother Farkas.

Though the Elf's occasional glance at the redoubt's entrance and caustic grumble were an _excellent_ source of entertainment, in Farkas' opinion, especially after helping the old Mer fell a dragon this morning. He wondered if the old Dunmer would get into another argument with Serana… once she got back from the 'picnic' Hermione insisted they go on.

Like Farkas believed the younger Dragonborn's intentions were pure and honest. He'd seen the way those two looked at each other: Serana's quick, loving glances were exchanged with Hermione's lip nibbles and roving eyes. If they'd not proposed to each other, at _least_ , Farkas was willing to eat his sword. With turnip sauce.

Speaking of the lass, Farkas caught their scent, a breeze from the west bringing the copper/nightshade scent of Serana and…

Farkas wanted to grin wider at his guess being justified, but stifled it and addressed Drevas casually, "So… Thane Drevas…"

"Just Drevas, Farkas," grunted the Dunmer in question, not looking up from his book, "I don't much care for my titles, though they're useful for getting things moving around nobility."

"Right," the young Nord grunted back, thankful he'd no longer have to stand on ceremony with the powerful warrior, before asking, "So you've really got no problem with your apprentice courting a vampire?"

The heavily-armored Dark Elf shrugged, "There's been weirder matches; I could describe to you what the child of an Argonian and an Orc looks like. Saw _that_ one while in Black Marsh, oh, little over a hundred years ago."

' _The **fuck?!** '_ Farkas put down his mug, "Yeah, _no_ , don't want to think about that before dinner."

Drevas looked at him over the top of his book, "And I didn't want to see it, but these things happen; anyway, if a union like _that_ can be blessed by the Temple, it's not much of a stretch to believe that an ordinary person and a vampire can have a healthy relationship… Though I'm certain more than a few priests and priestesses would disagree…" the Mer raised a thin eyebrow, "Why this topic, if you don't mind my asking?"

The bulky Nord grinned, "Because you owe me five Septims, old Elf," he gestured west, then reclaimed his mug, "They're about five minutes away, and, from the smell of things, _very much_ enjoyed their private time."

Drevas stared at him blankly for a solid minute before shrugging again, eyes drifting back to his book, "Still not as unsettling as the time I caught a Guar having its way with a Scamp."

Farkas spat out a mouthful of mead. Scales chittered with mirth as the Companion coughed out, "What-*cough-cough*… in _all the fucking_ **HELLS?!** "

His conversation partner calmly turned a page, face impassive, "More or less what I said, at the time."

"When in the _fuck_ was this?!" not that he much wanted to know the details, but _shit_ , if Farkas wasn't curious!

"4E70, Vvardenfell," replied Drevas evenly, but then his brow furrowed, "Come to think of it, never did find out just _why_ that was happening…"

"…You're fucking _weird_ , Dunmer," observed Farkas with disgust, refilling his mug.

His employer sneered lightly at him, "So said the Nord, member of the _only race in Tamriel_ , Bosmer aside, that actually _enjoys_ eating _mammoth cheese_."

' _Oh, he wants to go there, huh?'_ curling his upper lip, Farkas parried the barb with expertise born of observing countless arguments between his fellow Companions, "Don't get me wrong, I don't get what's so great about the stuff, but that's rich coming from you, Dark Elf."

Drevas leveled his full attention on Farkas, smirking slightly, "Oh? _My_ people haven't introduced anything to the rest of Tamriel that wasn't universally-"

"Flin and Crassius Curio. Both things this continent could've gotten on without, you aged fuck."

"…Oh, fuck off and die, ice-brained _s'wit_ ," snarled Drevas, snapping his book closed and checking on the stew, "And for your information, _Dance of the Three-Legged Guar_ is a gods-damned literary masterpiece, compared to, what is it you Nords have again? _The Ballad of Red Eagle_?"

A young voice cleared her throat, bringing arguing pair's attention to Drevas' returning apprentice and her beloved; Serana had their quilt slung over a shoulder, presumably carrying something, while Hermione's hands were on her hips as she fixed her mentor with an unimpressed glare, though Serana's face was carefully blank.

"Master," Hermione began in a low voice, "I _know_ I didn't just hear you defend that lecherous purveyor of third-rate _smut_."

" **THIRD-RATE**?!" two voiced crowed in unison, much to Farkas' mirth. ' _This is better than the time I put ground-up blisterwort in Aela's armor and blamed it on Skjor!'_

Hermione whipped her head around to stare at Serana, " _Excuse me?!_ "

"Ah-err-um…" the noble vampire cleared her throat, ignoring Drevas' awed gaze and Farkas' quiet chuckling, "He… well, I _have_ read worse, love. Compared to what my _father's_ minions write in their spare time, Mr. Curio is a _far_ more engaging and accomplished writer."

' _Funny. Didn't think Drevas and Hermione could make the same expression_ ,' mused Farkas, before deciding enough was enough, "What'cha got in the blanket, Serana?"

Huffing, Hermione muttered, " _We'll discuss your choices of literature later, Ana_ ," before answering Farkas' question, "There was a Dwemer chest half-buried in the riverbed, just north of the crossing; oh, Master?" Drevas looked up from spooning stew into a few wooden bowls to raise an eyebrow at his smirking apprentice, "One: my unlocking spell is better than the one you showed me, and two: we found something of Dwemer make, and Serana doesn't know what it is."

Now Farkas' attention was piqued; he looked on interestedly as Serana carefully placed the quilt on the ground and picked up where Hermione left off, "Though there were a few other things in there and, after discussing things with Hermione, we feel it'd be best to share the spoils with you two," she unfurled the quilt…

Revealing a square, wooden box and _four gold bars_ , each the size of the Companion's bicep; while Farkas gaped, Drevas chuckled, "Why, it's not even Satunalia, you two!"

Smirking and stooping to pick up a bar, Hermione replied, "Well, I have to pay you back _somehow_ , for being such a good chef," and heaved one of the heavy ingots over next to the Toolbox, then crouching to pick up another, grinning at Farkas, "And Farkas, here, for putting up with all of our insanity, whether in Falkreath or elsewhere," and tossed the block of gold his way.

"Oof! Damn, that's heavy," grinned back Farkas, putting down his mug and examining the very expensive gift he was holding; bright and shiny, with a softness that only real gold held… ' _The things I could buy with this…,'_ the young man's mind supplied images of Masterwork gear, mead and women before he graciously thanked Hermione, who was stowing her own bar in a knapsack, "Cheers, lass."

"Yeah, didn't expect you coming back with treasures; that road is fairly well-travelled," observed Drevas, stowing his bar in the Toolbox before passing out bowls of steaming stew, asking as an afterthought, "I'll assume the contents of that wooden box is the mystery item?"

Nodding and picking up said box, Serana piped up as Hermione leaned against her left side and tucked into her dinner, "Yes. There's a sigil on the cover that contains the Dwemer word for 'Blackreach', and whatever the thing inside is, it has a _ridiculous_ amount of magical resonance."

"Hm," the Dark Elf's brow furrowed at that description, setting a bowl down in front of Scales before holding out a hand, "Pass it over, then."

Not much interested in the latest magical dingus those two mages picked up, Farkas concentrated on his excellently flavored food and mead for a minute; Drevas also felt food was more interesting than whatever was in the box, and tucked in with gusto.

As Magnus' light faded and their bellies were contentedly filled, Drevas finally picked up the small box and cast Candlelight; squinting at the cover as Farkas looked on, the Dragonborn's eyes suddenly widened in shock, whispering almost to himself, " _No fucking way_."

That got Farkas' full attention, as well as that of the two ladies sharing a book; in a hopeful tone, Hermione asked, "Do you know that sigil, Master?"

Drevas just blinked at the box cover and replied shakily, "Hermione, _any_ reputable student of Dwemer history could tell you what this sigil is: it's the official seal of the Tonal Architects, the mage-engineers who led the Dwemer. Remember the Scroll chamber?" at his student's hesitant nod, Drevas wetted his lips and looked back to the box, "They're the ones who created that apparatus, and likely everything you saw in Blackreach," he opened the box…

A blueish-white glow washed over the old Mer's face, highlighting his utterly shocked expression; Farkas, on the other hand, began reaching for his sword. In the young Nord's experience, anything _that_ glowy was either very dangerous or bad news, especially if it came from the Dwemer.

"Drevas?" called Serana worriedly when Drevas went totally still, gaping at the box's contents for a whole minute, "Are you-"

The Dragonborn suddenly looked disgusted, snapping the box closed and glaring at the two ladies, "A century and a _half_ of exploration, plumbing ruins bursting with Falmer, Daedra and _worse_ , nearly dying countless times in the process, and _you two_ ," he pointed at the girls, who were starting to look worried.

' _Damn_ ,' thought Farkas in shock, ' _Didn't know he could snarl like that_.'

Taking a shaky breath, the old warrior finished, voice rising in intensity as he spoke, "You two go on a _picnic date_ at a well-known and documented Dwemer site and _find the fucking Dwarven equivalent of **THE AMULET OF KINGS!** "_

"What?!" was Hermione's understandably intelligent response, though Serana was a little more eloquent, "S-Surely you jest, Drevas…"

Farkas blinked as the Dunmer shook his head, opened the box again and took out a crescent-shaped piece of blue… _something_ ; to the Nord's eyes, it looked like stone, but unlike any sort of stone he'd ever seen. A leaf-like protrusion was built into the inside of the crescent, the entire object covered in tiny white lettering that, at this distance, Farkas couldn't decipher; not that he _wanted_ to get closer, given what Drevas said it was like.

Elder Scrolls were one thing, and he'd kept his distance in that matter; the Dwemer version of the Amulet of Kings? Fuck. That.

Though the young Nord's (and his inner Wolf's, who was growling non-stop in distrust after that description) anxiety was mostly calmed at Drevas' next words, "In terms of magical resonance, yes, but not nearly as important or complex as the Amulet; I'm assuming, not my area of expertise, but anyway," he indicated the object, "This is refined aetherium, the rarest mineral in all of Nirn," here, he indicated the blue border on the Toolbox, "The blue in my Toolbox is the same material, except the difference between these two objects is like night and day; for one, my Toolbox was made by a Telvanni master-wizard who informed me he didn't actually know what he was doing, as even the most powerful member of his house, Divayth Fyr, is an ignorant child compared to an idiot amongst the Dwemer, to say nothing of the Tonal Architects. For another, attaining aetherium of _this_ purity, let alone as much as this piece, shouldn't be possible; it took Neloth, the wizard in question, _three years_ to gather enough of the stuff to make _one_ Toolbox. He lost three apprentices doing it, too," he looked down at the piece in his hands as though it were a gift from the Nine, " _This_ , everyone… this is _priceless_."

"Bullshit," growled Farkas, drawing a withering glare from the Dragonborn, though he bore it with bravery born of Nordic blood blended with mead and went on, "If you can sell a fucking _person_ , you can sell that thing. C'mon, old Dunmer, you _have_ to have some idea of what it's worth," he went to take a sip…

"If you could find a serious buyer, Farkas, assuming they don't just kill you for it, this _one piece_ could not only buy everyone and everything in Riften," Farkas choked on his drink, "but you'd have enough left over to upgrade the sewers."

Silence dominated the campfire as Magnus set and everyone present looked with shock at the blue stone on Drevas' lap.

Hermione, of course, broke it, "But… I mean, other than the Toolbox, what can you _do_ with it?"

Around a shrug, Drevas replied easily, "I'm no enchanter, but Neloth is, and this stuff is about the only thing that could really get the insane bastard riled up, and that's saying something, because, and I'm speaking from experience here, it takes _a lot_ to get the Telvanni excited."

"With magical resonance like that…" breathed Serana, eyes flicking left and right in thought, "It has better harmonics than a filled grand soul gem; you could create a Masterwork Artifact with a _sliver_ of that material. Any smith or enchanter would _kill their own children_ for something like this…"

' _Damn_ ,' though Farkas, eyeing the stone warily, ' _Maybe we should bury it, before it starts a war or something_.'

But Drevas shook his head, pointing at several points on the crescent as he spoke, "Not that anyone _here_ is going to go flapping their gums to whatever Johnny-jump-up about this, but it'd be a shame to shave bits off this, seeing as it's a Masterwork itself; see the runes, the grooves, how it has some incomplete design on the leaf? This fragment is part of a set, either two or four if my guess is correct; the Dwemer spent countless hours creating this… for what reason, though… wait…" he blinked, looking up into the distance suddenly, as though he remembered something.

Hermione must've came to the same conclusion as Farkas, as she leaned forward and asked excitedly, "What? You remembered something, right? What is it?!"

Blinking again, Drevas slapped himself on the forehead and groaned, "Of fucking _course_ , Katria and her search for the Forge."

' _Whatever that is_ ,' thought Farkas, standing and saying to his Pack, "Whatever that thing does, can it wait? We've got more pressing things to do, after all," and made for the redoubt to collect his belongings.

"Hmm? Oh, right," returning the shard to its case, Drevas looked to the Hermione and Serana, who both looked a mite bit disappointed, "We'll continue this discussion later; empty your bladders and gather your things, then we catch a couple hours' sleep before plumbing that cave. _Auriel's Bow_ isn't going to find itself, after all."

 **. . . . .  
20th Second Seed, 4E201  
Outside Darkfall Cave  
. . . . .**

' _Boot knife?_ ' Check; though it wasn't the one Master originally gave me. _That_ was under a floorboard in Breezehome; Astrid's dagger was a good replacement, though.

' _Weapons secure?'_ A quick testing of my belt and _Stormbringer_ 's harness assured me they weren't going anywhere; check.

' _Kresh?'_

 _Yes, mistress? _

_'Ready for this?'_

 _Of course!_ Check.

Around me, the other members of the group were preforming their own last-minute checks and preparations; Farkas' head was bowed, eyes shut as he communed with his Inner Wolf, arms folded over his chest, leaning against a tree.

Drevas' hands cycled through a rainbow of colors and patterns, making sure all his spells still came easily, his ebony bow and _Starfall_ in their usual places; a few feet away, Scales, his current color a light grey with black streaks, was sharpening his claws on a boulder, blue eyes focused.

Serana now sported a glass bow with matching arrows to go with her Ayelid armor, two curved ebony daggers and a silver broadsword on her belt; as I looked on, she uncorked a dark red potion and drank it down.

When she finished, my Ana's eyes were a deep crimson. ' _Must have been a blood potion,'_ I realized, turning my thoughts to my own magic, ' _Makes sense. It'd be hard to offer her a drink, being in full kit.'_

My magic, a series of placid lakes located in my heart, stomach and navel, rose at my calling, swirling into a ready whirlwind, eager for direction; my wand vibrated in its case, thrumming with its own readiness. ' _Very check_.'

Additionally, I was no longer pleasantly tingly from my Ana and I's picnic date, but that was hardly surprising, seeing as I held myself back. I mean, I didn't _want_ to, but there were two very good reasons for doing so: one, the idea of going into an unknown situation wobbly-legged just seemed stupid and reckless, and, while I'm occasionally the latter, evidence shows I'm definitely not the former.

The second reason was that, full of determination and youthful vigor though I may be, Serana is a vampire; if we both became lost in our passion, no doubt I'd not be able to _walk_ afterward, let alone fight! Which meant Drevas would be forced to heal me, and there was no way, in all the Sixteen Hells and Aetherius, that I would _ever_ ask my arse of a mentor to take away _those_ kinds of aches.

That, and I'm certain he'd rib me mercilessly for it.

But enough about this; there was business ahead.

Presently, our preparations finished, we turned our attention to Drevas, the veteran dungeon-delver; clearing his throat, he fixed us all with a sober look beneath his dragon-bone helm, narrowed red eyes checking our persons for imperfections.

Scales moved smoothly to his side, and my mentor addressed us all, "Right. We're as prepared as we can get, which means we could probably take an army of daedra, if pressed; that's good, seeing as none of us knows what's in this hole," jerking a thumb over his shoulder, at the black crack in the crags of Haafingar nearly hidden by the shrubs growing near the entrance, Drevas continued the briefing, "other than our objective, _Auriel's Bow_. For all we know, this could be the redoubt of a Dremora company from the Oblivion Crisis, the vestiges of cultists dedicated to the King of Worms, or a draugr stronghold. Anything could be down there, and, given our collective luck," a humorless laugh left my companion's throats, a cynical smirk finding its way to my lips, "it'll probably be out to harm us. To wit, we're not taking any chances."

Turning to me, he gave me his instructions while I tried to smother the butterflies in my stomach, "Have Kresh sniff out alternate routes and blocked doorways; if there's an ambush, I want to know about it _yesterday_. We've been through a couple battles, and Farkas seems to have taught you well, so I won't instruct you on battlefield discipline save this: mind your shots, lass. That crossbow of yours is scary."

He finished with a smile which I nervously returned; while I instructed Kresh on his duties, Drevas spoke to Serana and Farkas, "Scales and Serana in front, as their night-eye is better than even yours, Farkas, at least outside your Werewolf form; then it'll be Farkas and Hermione, as she'll need to be close to the front so Kresh has the best range possible. I'll bring up the rear, watching our backs."

Nods of assent were had all around. A bit of a rustle as weapons were drawn, _Stormbringer_ 's color changing to the pale blue of its Frost setting, Farkas moving to my right side and Kresh moving next to Serana, who strode together toward the cave entrance.

Behind us, the soft _tok_ of Drevas nocking an arrow, " _Go._ "

 **. . . . .  
Darkfall Cave  
. . . . .**

The cavern was dark and empty, save a lone frostbite spider who made the fatal mistake of thinking Scales a tasty snack.

Other than that… nothing. A perilously rotted wooden rope bridge ran over a hole in the floor, the sound of swiftly rushing water coming up to our ears; there was a table on the other side of the bridge, but…

"Drevas, I'm not going to try crossing this rickety death-trap," whispered Serana, giving said death-trap a kick, knocking a different board, halfway across, loose; it fell into the dark of the well. No sound indicated it'd struck the water.

"Wasn't going to ask you to," my mentor grumped, glowing red eyes searching a moment before coming to rest on my face, "Kresh find anything?"

As though to answer his prayers, _Mistress!_ Kresh's shadow form careened around the corner, back the way we came, _There is a secret path, at the end of the entrance hall._

Following my Daedric companion, I related his find to my friends while leading them to the indicated wall; once there, Drevas knocked on it with a mailed fist. There was an echo from the other side.

Then I had a thought, born of experience from plumbing various barrows, ' _Hey Kresh, try seeing if there's a lever or switch on the other side._ ' No sense risking a cave-in, which might happen if Drevas decided to bash the wall down with _Starfall_.

Aloud, I told Drevas and the others what Kresh was doing, much to their approval; no one, myself _definitely_ included, wanted to try finding out what lay at the bottom of the well. The Hound of Hircine slipped through a crack in the wall; Serana chuckled and observed, "That'll be handy, when we get around to finding the last piece of the Gauldur Amulet."

I allowed myself a feeling of giddiness, thinking of the future adventure to remake the ancient artifact; it was short-lived, however, as Kresh quickly found a pull-chain and, once we were back in formation, opened the way at my direction.

The faint stench of _troll_ wafted our way from the black crack in the world. Casting Night Eye on myself (it didn't help much, it was so dark in there), I grit my teeth and followed Scales and Serana into the dark.

A minute of creeping through the musty cavern, Scales gave a chirp, followed by my Ana's report, "Found an abandoned campsite, with a note," coming closer to where she'd knelt next to a moldy bedroll, I watched her face curl into pitying disgust as she looked it over, Scales sniffing about the scattered detritus on the ground, "Whoever they were, they thought they could befriend the trolls living deeper in."

"One born every minute," was Farkas' extremely accurate observation of such behavior; taking a deep breath through his nose, he then nodded to the deep blackness beyond Serana, "Pretty sure there's more spiders down that way."

 _Blegh_. Even though Geirmund's Hall was nearly a month ago, the thought of those skittering terrors still gave me the shivers; I could see why Farkas didn't like the things, though I wasn't nearly as afraid of them.

Guy could practically _wrestle_ a troll without using his beast form, and he's scared of spiders. Go figure…

Sniffing herself, Serana concurred with the Companion's observation, then pointed down a side passage, "Smells a _little_ better down this way, though I'm fairly certain that's where the trolls are."

Around the sound of Drevas using Aura Whisper, Kresh piped up, _Mistress? There's old magic down the troll passage._

 _'Really? How old?'_

 _Very old, mistress. It has been here since before Whiterun's foundations were laid._

"Master," I whispered, getting his attention, "Anything that way?"

He shook his head, saying mildly, "Looks like we have to choose between spiders and trolls." Farkas grumbled to himself, but I wasn't having it, now that Kresh gave us a clue!

"Trolls, Master," everyone (Scales included) looked at me in surprise, no doubt thinking of my well-known fear of the beasts, so I explained, "Kresh says there's magic down there that pre-dates Whiterun's founding."

Drevas blinked in surprise, then his brow furrowed and he muttered, "So either a Dwemer construction, or…" he shook his head, speaking slightly louder, "Trolls it is. Stay on guard."

Down, down, into the dark tunnel we went, the scent of troll and…

"Smells like fresh snow down here," observed Serana quietly, a few feet in front of us; the cavern looked like it opened into a larger, low-ceilinged chamber, a couple dozen yards ahead. Scales seemed to be more on edge than usual, too, the clannfear alpha jerking at the slightest noise.

Which was why we'd stopped, Drevas moving to the front and looking down at the daedra, asking gruffly, "What is it?" Scales barked in response, looking up at Drevas, then into the chamber ahead of us, then pawed the ground and let out a low whine, like he was worried.

All of which made Drevas rather… _upset_ , "Some fetcher warded the area ahead," the old Dunmer all-but snarled, glaring into the dark, "Warded _specifically_ against daedra. Scales and Kresh can't pass this line."

What?! Oh, that didn't bode well, and my Ana agreed, though her response was rather more constructive than mine would've been, "Give me a minute," she grinned at us, "I'll see if I can take them down," and she vanished into the deep gloom ahead.

Some minutes passed before Serana reappeared, right next to Drevas, probably trying to make him jump; he just looked at her with a raised eyebrow, which she huffed at, "You're no fun. It was a barrier, dated sometime around the Oblivion Crisis, but I ruined it. Oh, and the trolls are dead, but that's not all: there's a campfire, further in and to the left. _Someone's_ down here, but…"

"But…?" Farkas prompted, gripping his bow tighter.

Serana shrugged helplessly while Drevas used Aura Whisper again, "They don't smell like the other races of Tamriel, let alone the denizens of Oblivion. I've never smelled someone like this before."

"Maybe… an Akaviri remnant, Master?" I supplied, though I was mostly grasping at straws by now.

He made a negative sound, but his voice was a little strained when he replied, "There's only one person… Well!" he relaxed fully, giving us a humored look, "Let's go introduce ourselves," and off he strode, Scales prancing at his side.

"Wait, Dre- gah! _Reckless bastard._ Let's go, you three!" Serana looked _mad_ at my mentor's cavalier attitude, and, _honestly_ , I felt the same! Who knew what else was down here?!

Farkas didn't seem worried, and followed along, though he kept glaring at the ceiling. It _was_ rather low, ' _No way I can use Reductor, either wanded or with_ Stormbringer _, in this place._ ' I'd have to rely on the bow's other settings, Kresh, and my combat experience, should this meeting turn into a fight.

Though it didn't seem like that would be the case, as we rounded the last of the wide stone columns holding up the precariously low ceiling (Master Drevas' helm _nearly_ touched it, and Farkas had to crouch slightly so his sword's pommel didn't scrape on the dark stone, much to his grumbling annoyance), and laid eyes on our destination.

A wide grotto presented itself, as wide across as Castle Dawnguard's atrium, though the furnishings were rather sparse: a campfire with a figure standing before it was closest to us, an altar with some ornate pitcher placed on the dais, the golden sunburst idol upon it replicated atop a low construction of white stone towards the opposite side of the small redoubt. Aside the bedroll, chamber pot and pool of water, fed by a natural spring on the right-hand side of the entrance, it was an almost disappointing end to what I'd thought would be a long and arduous journey.

 _'I'll be eating my words in some minutes, no doubt,'_ thought I cynically as the figure turned to face us, taking up a bladed staff leaning against a boulder and moving to greet Drevas as my mentor crossed the threshold.

The being was, indeed, unlike any Elf I'd ever laid eyes on: wearing black and white plate-mail, the white of which matched his (I was getting better at differentiating between sexes when it came to Mer; _honestly_ , some of the men looked so feminine it was hard to tell at times!) snowy hair, the mystery Elf's skin was paler than any I'd seen in my travels.

An ebony knife was sheathed at his belt, but that paled in comparison to the staff-no, the _naginata_ the being held with obvious familiarity; the wickedly sharp and double-edged silver blade was long as my forearm, a simple gold bracket attaching it to the handle, while the weapon's haft was half as tall as I was, black ebony etched with tiny blue runes crisscrossing over some bone-white material, ending in a black pommel so ornate that I couldn't make it out in the low light of the campfire.

Kresh, however, recognized the weapon, and reverently breathed its name into my mind, _The_ White Fang _. A collaboration of Azura and Father's, made with ebony from Red Mountain and solidified starlight, created for the purpose of keeping the hosts of the House of Troubles at bay, thought lost or destroyed for thousands of years. Take care, mistress: no weapon or armor forged by Mortal hands can withstand its might._

Okay, _wow_ ; that's one impressive weapon. Also, _I want that weapon_. I wanted that weapon _yesterday_. Drevas wielded _Starfall_ , and as awesome _Stormbringer_ was, I wanted a melee weapon that was just as amazing as that dreadful hammer.

Not that my feelings had any bearing, right this moment; the strange Elf stopped five paces from my mentor, tapped the _White Fang_ 's pommel against the rough stone of the floor, and greeted us neutrally, but patiently, in a voice that complimented his bearing, which was of one who held the experience and weariness of _millennia_ upon his shoulders.

"I am Knight-Paladin Gelebor," he introduced himself, eyes the blended color of green and blue drifting over each of us in turn, "Welcome to the Chantry of Auri-El, greatest of my people's architectural achievements. As you stand on holy ground, speak, and be recognized in His light."

Gesturing for us to lower our weapons, Drevas holstered _Starfall_ and spoke warmly, "Well met, _sera_ ; I am Drevas of Mournhold…" he paused, then shrugged, no doubt wondering if he should state all his titles, though his final decision surprised me, "Dragonborn through birthright, and Knight-Commander of the Order of the Skywatch, though there are only two members left after the rest died on Vvardenfell."

Gelebor nodded understandingly, "I had wondered what happened to that Order of knights, why they never sought my people out after covering our tracks. My sympathies, Mer of Morrowind."

Well, never mind this strange Elf's _people_ , _I_ was wondering just what this Order of the Skywatch even _was!_ Nothing I'd read of history mentioned them… though, given my mentor's long life and knowledge of lesser-known bits of history, there was _probably_ a good reason for that; hopefully it didn't have anything to do with the whole Oblivion Walker thing.

Into the resulting silence, Serana greeted the strange Elf, "Serana Volkihar, at your service; Daughter of Coldharbour and former priestess of the Highblood vampire cult to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal, now set against the madness they wish to visit upon all of Nirn."

Though his facial expression didn't change, the curt nod Gelebor gave in response was enough for me to realize he didn't much appreciate someone like my Ana trotting all over his holy ground, though any concerns he'd deny us entry were obliterated by his verbal response, "Though it pains me to allow one who worshiped the God of Rape entrance to Auri-El's shrine, I sense your intentions are pure and driven by a sense of rightness. Well met."

Farkas broke the moment by growling out, "Farkas, Companion of Ysgramor and Favored Hunter of the Daedric Prince Hircine. I'm here to make sure none of these crazy fucks gets themselves killed."

"Love you too, Farkas," quipped I, rolling my eyes while Serana pushed the big Nord's shoulder and Master Drevas shook his head in exasperation.

Even Gelebor chuckled, though his following words were cold as the Sea of Ghosts, "You'll have your work cut out for you then, _Companion_ , if your party enters the Chantry," I blinked at the _venom_ in the Elf's tone. That was rather unusual… maybe he didn't like Nords-wait…

Snow-white hair, pale skin… positively ancient armor and weapons… strange architecture…

Dibella's.

Firm.

Supple.

 _Arse!_

"You're a Falmer!" blurted I in realization-

Making our host wince, "I'd prefer _Snow Elf_ ; the term _Falmer_ holds rather negative meaning with most people… What you call Falmer, I call the Betrayed."

Fitting, all things considered… oh, right, manners Granger! "Forgive me, I was just… erm, yes. Right. Hermione Granger, sir, arcane researcher, Knight-Aspirant of the Skywatch," Drevas giving a slight nod, good, didn't fuck that up, "Dragonborn through the gift of blood, and Most Favored of Hircine, God of the Wild."

Kresh gave a bark from my shadow at my last word while I stood up straight and proud, ' _Say something stupid to **that** , old fart!_' I didn't care if he _was_ a Snow Elf or Falmer or whatever, no one insults my friends.

Our Snow Elf host only blinked, staring at Kresh in obvious shock for a few seconds before he rallied, "Well… Clearly, all of you are doom-driven, to come this far and attain such titles; nevertheless, I am bound by solemn oath to Auri-El to ask all who come to this holy place the same request, in exchange for the prize you seek, _Auriel's Bow_."

Okay, _how the fuck does he **know?!**_ Serana seemed to have the same thought as I, "You know why we're here… _how_?" Drevas' shoulders stiffening and Scales' lurking near my mentor's feet gave the question _quite_ a bit more weight, with a subtle threat of violence, should Gelebor speak less-than-truthfully.

But there was no duplicity in the Snow Elf's weary response, "Tis the only reason anyone has come here, to the last sanctuary of the Snow Elves and the world's greatest shrine to Auri-El, since the Betrayal," oof, yeah, that must suck, no one coming your way except to look for some shiny bow, "Ever and anon, adventurers of all walks of life have come. I make my request, they agree… and, invariably, they die in the attempt."

The last statement, delivered not as a warning, but as a simple, unsurprising fact didn't do much to bolster my confidence. Although… I glanced at my companions: Farkas already looked bored, Serana looked slightly amused, Scales scratched behind his fringe with a foreleg, and Master Drevas didn't look worried in the slightest.

It was then I remembered: I'd faced such odds before, multiple times at that! Blackreach would've killed me if not for Drevas' preparations and teachings, I had no illusions there, but I came out of there alive and _mostly_ intact. Few others, even veteran adventurers, could make such a boast. Shriekwind Bastion, Folgunthur, Geirmund's Hall, those bandit forts and redoubts, _hells_ , I'd finished off the _Dark fucking Brotherhood!_

If I wasn't ready for this, I had little doubt Drevas wouldn't have let me come this far, or my Ana for that matter.

My mentor seemed of like mind on this, asking in a bored tone, "So, what does this 'request' of yours entail, Knight-Paladin?"

"I need you to kill Arch-Curate Vyrthur… my brother."

Okay… _what?!_ One of the last remaining Snow Elves wanted us to kill another of this critically endangered race?! ' _Kresh, does this make any sense to you?'_

 _Little of this makes sense to me, mistress; the Mer should elaborate, before I decide to relieve him his weapon._

 _'Yeahhh, save it for the actual enemies, mate. I'll find another way to get that spear off him, somehow.'_

"You… want us to kill your brother?" was Serana's disbelieving question, though it was clearly rhetorical, as she immediately followed up with, "Why? Your people are nearly wiped out as is."

"The situation is worse than you realize, Daughter of Coldharbour," Gelebor replied solemnly, though steadily, as though he'd long accepted his fate, "This place was our people's last redoubt, and I have asked after my people whenever someone comes seeking the Bow; no other settlement has been discovered, and one of those who came this way was an explorer well-versed in my people's history and architecture. We are destroyed, and my brother holds part of the blame.

"Long ago, I know not the exact date or Era by your counting, the Betrayed swept into the Chantry, slaughtering all in their path. My brother Vyrthur is Arch-Curate; to him is given the ability to raise the defenses of this place… but, when I and what few survivors remained reached him, to beg him to eradicate these vermin… he did _nothing_ ," Gelebor frowned, then finished, voice turning regretful toward the end, "I know not what has come over him, but he simply stands there, silent… as though waiting for something. To my shame, I fled, taking the fallen Knight-Commander's weapon and hoping, praying, that one day someone would come and oust the Betrayed and avenge my people. My best effort was not enough, and, though Auri-El has blessed me with long life, I am old. An assault against the Betrayed would only end in my pointless death."

Right, so we had cause; inaction in the face of such a threat was practically treason. Any government in the Empire would see it that way.

In any case, the question needed to be asked, so I gave it voice, "How many Falmer are we talking about? Hundreds?"

"Several thousand, at least," we all flinched, even Drevas; that was _a lot_ of Falmer. Gelebor wasn't finished, much to our collective horror, "Though their numbers have been culled over the centuries, by adventurers and hapless explorers crossing the unforgiving peaks, they have dug in like ticks, capturing what trespassers they can and breeding uncontrollably; additionally, they have numerous Chaurus, large insects that they raise as cattle and security… and then there are the natural defenses of the Chantry, which I am oath-bound not to reveal to outsiders."

"Pardon my language, but _fucking shit_ , tell me there's an armory somewhere in these caves," swore Drevas, summing up my own thoughts on the matter, though my mentor's concerns weren't along the lines of _oh Gods there better be an anvil or workbench so we can make repairs_ , "I'm not sure I have enough arrows for all _that_."

Gelebor's face went thoughtful a moment before replying, "There may be, but odds are you'll have to scavenge what gear is serviceable from the Betrayed," oh, that's just _great_ , "Though you seem to be laboring under the illusion that the Chantry of Auri-El merely encompasses these dank caves; the truth is somewhat more. Here," he turned to the stone construction at the far end of the grotto, beckoning us closer as he sheathed the _White Fang_ on his back, "Let me show you."

As we crossed the grotto, I glanced over and inspected the altar, specifically the ornate jug sitting atop it; idly, I asked the Daedra attached to my shadow, _'Kresh, any idea what that jug over there is?'_

 _Nay, mistress… though,_ a flicker shot across the dimly-lit ground, faster than I could track, as the shadowy Hound darted over to the altar and back, _it has some enchantment on it, very subtle. Given that it is sitting on an ancient altar to Auri-El, mistress, I presume it to have some ritual purpose. _

_'A purification ritual, perhaps?'_

 _Only the Elf would know, now, mistress; a terrible shame, his race's destruction._

Indeed, it was, but such ruminations were for another day. Maybe, once my Ana and I were safely ensconced in Winterhold's College, I could study what texts the library there held on the ancient race.

First, however, I had to survive the Falmer. _Again_.

Presently, we arrived before the squat, square construction; Gelebor, turning to face us, indicated it and elucidated, "This is the entrance to the Chantry proper, used primarily by the Chantry's Initiates when the time comes for their Pilgrimage. This Pilgrimage is more a test of the Initiate's mettle in the face of hardship, a gauntlet they must pass through before they take their place amongst the Shrine's Chosen; it is neither for the faint of heart or the faithless, as, even before the Betrayed arrived, the odds of someone completing the Pilgrim's Path with their body and sanity intact was one in twenty."

Without further ado, he raised a hand, silver and gold aether blending into a ball before dispersing in a twelve-pointed starburst; an answering burst of magic emitted from the idol atop the construction…

And it _rose off the ground_ , walls seeming to form from the ground beneath, an arched doorway revealing the squat stonework was actually an ornate shrine! The walls within formed five sides, an arch worked into the stone of each, a basin, carved to look like an upraised dragon claw, holding pride of place in the center. It was all made of the purest of white marble, and gave off a lukewarm feeling of truly powerful magic at work; my Ana's whispered, "So this is Snow Elf magic… fascinating," understated my own feelings regarding the small building before us, which completed its transformation in complete silence.

 _This_ was but a sliver of what the Dwemer, damn them to the Void, threw away in their greed. _This_ was what the Ancient Nords so callously annihilated, in their quest for a kingdom of their own. How different would Tamriel be, if harmony and friendship won out over dominance and ambition in those early days?

Not that such thoughts mattered, anymore. The last true Snow Elf was before us, old and worn by the millstone of time, the rest changed irrevocably by their accursed cousins.

Still… this _was_ their greatest achievement, their last redoubt. A unique opportunity was before me: magic that no mage in the past four millennia was able to replicate. Hopefully the Falmer hadn't destroyed too much, and _surely_ there was a writing or two sealed away in some vault or enchanted chest! Well-away, I'd find it, and puzzle out the secrets of this ancient people with my Ana's help.

' _If I survive, anyway…_ ' several thousand Falmer, their insectoid pets and Julianos knew what else stood between me and this new goal.

I was brought out of my thoughts as Gelebor continued his explanation of what was ahead while Drevas stepped forward to inspect the shrine's interior, "This is a Wayshrine of Auri-El. There are five others along the Pilgrim's Path. Take note of the basin in the center: when you arrive at one of the other Wayshrines, there will be a Spectral Prelate overseeing the shrine. On approaching, they will state the name of the shrine you've arrived at, then ask you to fulfil the mantras taught to all Initiates during their training; simply answer in the affirmative, as the Prelates have no will of their own, and the Wayshrine will open in the same way this example has, though the basin will be filled with water."

Oh! I piped up, "I'm guessing this is where that pitcher over there," point at the altar and said pitcher, "come into play."

Point for me! Gelebor nodded, looking mildly pleased, "Yes. Once the Wayshrine is open, take some water from the basin. The Initiate's Ewer has several enchantments which prevent any water but that of a Wayshrine basin entering it, as well," so we can't cheat our way through the holy ritual. Makes sense, "When you have taken water from all five Wayshrines, the Inner Sanctum will become available."

As he spoke, Serana sauntered over and collected the Ewer from its resting place, smiling slightly as she returned to us and asked a good question, "So, once we have all the water, what do we do with it?"

"Well, upon approaching the Inner Sanctum, Initiates would empty the Ewer into a final basin at the Sanctum's doors; this finishes the ritual, and grants the supplicant an audience with the Arch-Curate, the leader of the Chantry," a pause, "Once the Initiate has recovered, that is. I speak from personal experience when-"

"We. Get. It." Farkas finally growled, "We get we're in for a long fight. This isn't the first time _any of us_ have done this shit." Gelebor actually glanced at me, looking slightly surprised, so Farkas finished, "Yeah. Even her," he grunted a laugh and said to Drevas, who was still looking at the basin in the Wayshrine, "Hells, between the lot of us, this is probably overkill."

"Don't get cocky, lad," was Drevas' sober response, looking up and fixing us with a hard stare, "Falmer breeding hives are no joke; speaking of which, do you know where it is?" at the Snow Elf's negative head shake, my mentor sighed, "Well, no time like the present. Send us on, Knight-Paladin."

Looking slightly uncomfortable at our dismissive attitude (I was busying myself with my crossbow… and sending a quiet prayer to Hircine and Talos, while Serana affixed the Ewer to her belt and drew her knives), Gelebor nonetheless prepared to do as Drevas said.

Hands glowing with a snowy light, he addressed us one last time, "This is the last time we'll be able to speak like this; if you have any further questions, ask them now."

"Yeah," I drawled casually, looking at the haft of the _White Fang_ , "That weapon you're carrying, you realize it's a Daedric artifact, right?"

Our host actually looked _offended_ , and it showed in his response, "This spear is one of the artifacts of my people, child," he sent a mild glare Drevas' way and continued, "Passed down from one Knight-Commander to the next for-"

"It was forged by Azura and Hircine in an age long forgotten," replied I, going off what Kresh was telling me even as I spoke, "for the use of their High Priests and Grand Hunters, respectively; not that either the ancient history of Hircine's faithful or your people has much bearing for the reason I'm bringing this up," I paused for effect, making sure I had Gelebor's full attention before I made my request.

"You have no further use for the _White Fang_ , Knight-Paladin Gelebor of the Snow Elves. As we are doom-driven, ordained by Fate through the Elder Scrolls, and have purpose under the Oath of the Skywatch," I held out my hand, ignoring my friend's no-doubt shocked expressions, keeping my gaze fixed on Gelebor's frowning visage, "Relinquish this artifact of the Daedra to our cause, that we might succeed where you failed, and give the souls of your people the rest they deserve."

Truly, I didn't really know if that speech would actually work, but, seeing as my oath called me to a higher purpose, alongside the fact that Tamriel's legends carried _a lot_ of weight, I was really hoping it would be enough to get this Elf to give me _White Fang_. It's not like he was even using it, anyway, and never mind I knew nearly nothing about the Skywatch… though that _would_ explain my mentor's mark being replicated on my armor…

My doubts, however, were baseless, "You speak wisdom, Knight-Aspirant," spoke Gelebor quietly, if a bit sourly, drawing the dread weapon and holding it out for me to take; which I _totally_ did, feeling the heady thrum of a divine enchantment run through my magic as I removed the silver javelin on my back and placed the _White Fang_ in its scabbard, "I will pray for your survival, Champions."

And the way opened with a gong-like sound of magic: the arch opposite the Wayshrine's opening was suddenly a rippling window made of aether, revealing deep darkness, a flickering purple glow in the distance.

Gelebor left us to our devices as we grouped together in the Wayshrine, returning to his small encampment without another word. Glancing out after him briefly, my mentor then looked down at me with a quirked brow, saying quietly, "It's a nice weapon, Hermione, but you didn't have to go all high-born on the poor sod."

I frowned while Farkas sniggered under his breath, "Well, I'm right, Master Drevas! He's not using it, and we can put it to better use."

"How'd you know- wait," my Ana rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, looking down at me, bemused, "It was Kresh, wasn't it?"

Nodding firmly, I then fixed my mentor with a glare and a pointed finger, "Also, I don't care if I owe you my life, station and livelihood, Drevas; when this is over, or if we get a chance on the way, we need to have a _long_ conversation about the utterly ridiculous titles you have that aren't written in books."

He shrugged uncaringly, the _infuriating arse_ , "Fine by me, lass," then his gaze went hard again, glaring at the portal to the next step on our mission, "Speaking of our current duties, you're taking point with Scales, at least until we get a chance to figure out where the _Nine_ that breeding hive is. Set that bow to that shock/fire setting and use Aura Whisper like it's going out of style; mind the holes in the walls and keep your eyes peeled for blue-speckled mounds. If you see one, kill it with fire.""

Blood-scented magic filled the Wayshrine, rippling over Serana's knives, my love's eyes narrowing in focus, "Hit anything that isn't us, then?"

"That's the idea, vampire," growled Farkas excitedly, no doubt raring for a fight, "You taking the rearguard again, old Mer?"

"Of course," my mentor sniffed, nocking an arrow and rolling his shoulders; I could _feel_ the magic rippling over his being as he prepared himself for what was coming, "Someone's gotta watch your backs. At your discretion, lass."

Nods were had all around, and I turned to the portal, taking a deep breath to steal myself.

' _Maybe there'll be a clue, on how I can go home to Harry…_ '

With that final thought and a pat on Scales' withers, I readied _Stormbringer_ and leapt into the unknown.

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N:**

 **Sorry for the wait, ended up reading _Worm_ and got understandably distracted by raving plot-bunnies.**

 **So that's the first of four chapters, relating the events of the Forgotten Vale, which, as you can all see, will be _much_ different than in-game. **

**Next chapter will be a brief interlude, then Darkfall Passage. *spooky sounds are spooky***

 **Though I'll be focusing more on this story for a while, as I want to finish off the Vale as quickly as possible.**

 **ONE MORE THING: reviewer responses… yeah, I don't have much time to PM each one, so I'll start addressing those here. Some of you have already been responded to, so I'll just clear up the others.**

 **Me Myself and I: As this is an AU fanfic, don't expect all the spells used in-game to function the same way here. Conjure Familiar is one of those spells that just doesn't translate well, given the world I'm building here. As for your comments on undead, the only type of undead that could _really_ give Hermione pause, even at this point in the story, are things like liches, revenants and masked Dragon Priests; I'm ignoring health bars, as that would be a silly thing to include in a fic like this one, but even a Death Overlord would only give her a brief amount of trouble, given that she has _Stormbringer_ and a wand at her disposal. Besides, I'm not even halfway done with this story; plenty of time for Hermione to become more of a badass and face enemies that don't go down easy.**

 **DschingisKhan: You'll have to content yourself to suspense for the interim. Whether in PM or here in the AN's, I'm not giving anything away, though I will say that Solstheim is mostly written despite us being a long way from there.**

 **MilandaAnza: Already answered your questions, and gave you some insights into this story. Hope you enjoyed the last bit of true Hermione/Serana fluff for a couple chapters.**

 **Thanks to everyone for reading, favoring, following and reviewing! I'll see you in a couple weeks!**

 **~Baked**

Next time: An Interlude: Beneath the Ashlands.


	13. Interlude 1: A Mouthful of Ashes

You know who owns what by now.  
Now, for a brief interlude!  
Be warned: this one is chock-full of violence and horror.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
Interlude 1  
A Mouthful of Ashes Beneath The Fire-Choked Sky  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 _The town crier climbed onto the edge of the covered well, drawing the attention of Mournhold's Market Day shoppers. My eyes drifted up from the latest batch notes on Restoration magic Ellie's brought from her lessons to listen to the news._

 _"Drevas!" Elenwen nearly whines at my shifting attention; she'd been in the middle of relating the lecture that went with these notes to me, so, yeah, that was a little rude of me, "Pay attention!"_

 _"Sorry, Ellie," I smile at her, making her pretty cheeks color, but then I nod at the Orismer crier, "But look at this, here; Burgz aired out his good robes for today – hey!" Ellie slapped me on the arm! Why are women so violent?_

 _"So what if he's got his good robes on? I took time out of my apprenticeship to go over this with you!"_

 _"Ah, don't pout Ellie-"_

 _"I'm_ not _pouting, Dre!" Damn but she looks cute when she's on the verge of a tantrum, crossing her arms and sticking her lip out like that._

 _"Ellie," I smile, nudging her with my shoulder, which causes that pout to vanish a little, "Last time he got the good robes out was to make an announcement from the King," her surprised emerald eyes meet my laughing dark reds; I nudge her again, "I'm not gonna ignore you for anything less, you know that."_

 _A perfectly manicured eyebrow rises, my Ellie's Altmer features twitching in amusement, "Not even for a broken Masterwork lock?"_

 _Thankfully, Burgz begins hollering, sparing my life._

"Hear ye, hear ye! By order of His Majesty, King Helseth, and by the order of the august Imperial Council," _half the market square rolls its eyes in near-synch at the mention of those big-wigs,_ "the Morrowind Chapters of the Fighter's Guild and Mage's Guild," _Ellie flinches, I move closer to her; official orders to her Guild?_ "will, one hour from now, begin taking volunteers," _she sighs in relief, as do I,_ "of any able-bodied or minded persons willing to embark on an expedition to the isle of Vvardenfell!"

 _Cue excited and disbelieving muttering across the square. I'm not too surprised, personally. Red Mountain's been fairly quiet the past five years, so it follows that some big-wigs would want to start an expedition to my people's ruined homeland, no doubt to raid our destroyed cities and steal our ancestral artifacts. Damn Empire._

 _I'm raising the pages and about ask Ellie if she wants to continue her lecture at the nearby park, but stop at her interested face and Burgz's continuing speech:_

"This expedition will be led by several wizards of House Telvanni," _oh crap, Ellie looks sold,_ "and the Grand Champion of the Fighter's Guild, the Hero of Morrowind, the Nerevarine herself!"

 _Wait, what?! Glimmer-Void's going?! Numbly I realize Ellie's grabbing my arm and bouncing on her feet excitedly; the both of us are huge fans of the Argonian legend that slew Dagoth Ur, the resurrection of Holy Nerevar, the hope of our people!_

"Any persons who return successfully from this endeavor will be paid 100 Septims for their service, and be declared Heroes of both the Dunmeri Kingdom and Talos' Great Empire!"

 _I looked down at Ellie's grinning face; this was the chance to prove herself she'd been waiting for, a chance to impress the Telvanni with her prowess and gain membership, not the first High Elf to do so, but certainly the youngest._

 _Wellaway, I'd have to go with my wide-eyed lass, if only to make sure she comes back in one piece. Old Master Ged and his missus would have to make do without me for the interim._

 _I grinned back, "Give me ten minutes to grab my gear and say goodbye to my master?"_

 _Those pretty green eyes light up even further, "You're really coming with?!"_

 _I nod, "Duh, Ellie! Someone's gotta watch out for you!"_

 _Uh-oh, that smirk looks strange, "Back at you, Dre."_

 _I shouldn't have been worried. As kisses go, Ellie can kiss me anytime she wants!_

 _Twenty minutes and a tearful goodbye from Master's missus later, my name was on the books for the expedition, right next to Elenwen's._

 _The next morning, at eight bells sharpish, the three hundred and forty members of the expedition set out for Vvardenfell in six boats, donated by the Imperial Legion. Dressed in standard-issue chitin armor, with my lockpicks and my Master's old steel mace, I felt ready for anything. After all, nothing had come off the island since the Red Year, except ashes from the volcano; odds were good we'd only find a few daedra and guar, hopefully a group of survivors, and return with riches to the praise of Mournhold._

 _And the Nerevarine, blessed Champion of Holy Azura, would be with us!_

 _What could go wrong?_

 **. . . . .  
Seven Weeks Later  
An Abandoned 6th House Redoubt, The Ashlands  
Ten Miles from Vvardenfell's Western Coast  
. . . . .**

The knife in my hand felt heavy, but I didn't hesitate; _couldn't_ hesitate. I'd die if I hesitated.

Like Heimdeir. Like Vos. Like my friend from the Redoran Guard, Aleks. Like poor Viserys. _Gods,_ there's so few of us left.

The Nord I'm crouched next to gurgles horrifically, the wound in his chest suddenly spouting black ichor, limbs spasming terribly, eyes begging me for a swift death. I oblige him, stabbing him in the head, twist the blade, giving him what peace I can.

A soft sob drifts to my ears. Ellie's voice. I ignore it, glancing at R'siiri, the only other remaining pathfinder on this damned expedition; her ash-stained face is sorrowful, yet slightly thankful that I was faster than her. Happy that she won't have more blood staining her paws.

I can't bring myself to hate her for it. Even now that we're all going to die in this horrible place.

She takes the canvas blanket and drapes it over the third-to-last Nords who came with us, a battlemage from Winterhold, and the latest victim of _another_ Ash Horror ambush.

Stopping her briefly, I remove what weapons and items I can find on the man, who doesn't look much older than me; an enchanted glass knife and a couple spellbooks, along with a journal.

"Get away from him, grave-robber!" growls the second-to-last Nord, a warrior named Aegnir, who's been trying to comfort Melessi Battle-Born, the only remaining Nord, an Alchemist, who's been a sobbing wreck since the ambush, her uncle and mentor ripped in half at the waist right in front of her, "A Nord should go to the Gods with his weapons-!"

R'siiri hissed at the ice-brain, "The Gods won't give a _shit_ if he shows up _naked_ , so long he rreturrns to them! Besides, he doesn't need weapons now."

Thank Boethiah she spoke up; call me a grave-robber… _when the only reason you came here, you FUCKING OUTLANDER, was to ravage the remains of my ancestors._

Presently, Wizard Neloth's last remaining apprentice, Solan, returns from setting up a barrier at the cavern's entrance, no worse than when he left five minutes ago. Rather than report, the boy just stares blankly at his Master, who is suitably and understandably distracted.

The only other person of rank is idle: the last of the Redoran Guards who came with us, Minka, is staring vacantly at her Captain's sword, held in her limp hands. A new recruit, barely a month under her belt before volunteering for this shit; were it not for her occasional shudder, I'd have thought her dead. What a way to start her career, seeing her entire company, even her brave Captain, ripped to shreds one by one by the horrors populating these accursed wastes.

Biting back on my hate, despair and shame, I snarl, "Well, Solan?!" the boy, barely even _my_ age, jerks and stares at me, "The barrier? Did they fucking follow us?"

"N-no, sera, the barrier's fine… they fled after… well, _after_." He slumps against the wall and slides down it; none of us make a sound, not even a sigh of relief.

We knew better than to expect a long break from this waking nightmare.

 **\|/**

 _I'd seen pictures of Dremora, in texts Ellie smuggled out of the Guild to show me, and on the boat to prepare for what I might face on Vvardenfell. The Telvanni used them as guards, sometimes._

 _The thing before us was no Dremora; once, perhaps, but not anymore._

 _The smell of rot hung heavy on the air as the thing lunged at one of the Telvanni wizards, the woman not even getting a chance to scream before it raked her chest with snot-green claws. It left her writhing in the dust and lunged at the vanguard with a bowel-loosening scream._

 _Pus-yellow magic burst from her body, her very soul screaming in bloodcurdling agony as we all shot arrows and spells at the seven-foot-tall black-red-green abomination, claws like a Hunger and mouth like a grinning Ogrim, as it ran at us, eviscerating a Redoran soldier and one of Glimmer-Void's men before it was finally torn to pieces in a hail of spell-fire and sharp blades._

 _Then its first victim_ shifted _, and became some hideous nightmare creature, weaving tendrils sprouting from her back and rotten milk dripping from her suddenly engorged breasts, it rose above us on spindly spider-like limbs that exploded from the wizard's arms and legs, eyes opening at the joints, a gaping maw splitting open across the belly, from which a fell voice ushered forth with a blast of corrupted air._

 ** _"OFFER ME YOUR SOULS! FEED ME! WORSHIP ME!"_** _it shrieked in a voice that caused madness in those of weak willpower; Viserys, a brave Imperial mercenary I'd played cards with just hours ago, who taught me how to swing a blade right, gutted himself without hesitation, dragging his innards out with mad giggles, offering the entrails up to the horror before us. He wasn't the only one, ten others that I could see taking their own lives in similarly gruesome ways._

 _I felt a vessel pop in my sinuses as I screamed in rage and fear, "FOR THE ANCESTORS! PRAISE BOETHIAH!" loosing arrow after desperate arrow into the volleys peppering the beast, war-cries of every faith and Province drowning my voice out in the miasma of battle, destructive spells filling the chamber as the Nerevarine lunged to the fore with a scream of righteous **fury** , the glittering light of the _Bitter Mercy _in her claws a beacon of hope in the terrible dark of Sadrith Mora's catacombs._

 _The abomination killed twelve more of us before it finally died._

 **\|/**

A ragged, wet coughing came from Ellie's direction, making everyone go still and silent; even the quietly sobbing Melessi stops her incessant weeping with a choked gasp.

I still don't look. Don't want to see it. Seeing what's going on over there would make it real.

Instead, I check my gear; each boot holds a knife, a bandolier holding even more of the pointy objects on my chest, the lightning mace I pulled from the Dwemer city, arrows on my back, an ebony bow I found in Dagon Fel's ruins. I finger the shafts, counting; twenty-six.

Looking over the ten corpses and the other gear R'siiri was sorting out, I realized I'd need to be more conservative with my bow. Once my arrows were gone, there'd only be a Dwemer mace and what few spells I knew between me and certain death.

By all rights, I shouldn't be alive… It should be _me,_ over there, getting my wounds seen to, dying in this dark and bitter place.

Not… not _her._

Not Glimmer-Void.

 **\|/**

 _The broken lock finally pops open, making me chuckle and R'siiri let out a purr of pleasure, almost drowned out by the pickaxes trying to break through the floor of Molag Mar, the diggers trying to reach the buried vaults. If I didn't know any better, I'd think the pretty Khajiiti she was interested._

 _Not that I was interested in the furry young woman; I loved Ellie, who was dealing with a small scrape not far from where I was crouched, having spent the last twenty minutes unlocking the temple's broken door. No way was I about to celebrate this small victory any more than knocking fists with my fellow locksmith and pathfinder. Might share a drink with her later, though, have her meet Ellie, just so there's no confusion…_

 _"Well done," a gravelly, lizard-y voice comes from right behind us._

 _We both look up to see Glimmer-Void, the Nerevarine, her blue scarf pulled down to reveal white grinning teeth and ebon-gold scales, gleaming blue eyes warming me. Artificer ebony plate shone in the low light of the fort, the_ Spear of Bitter Mercy _glittering on her back, the combination providing hope and bravery to all who laid eyes on the Great Horator, the Champion of Morrowind._

 _Or that was just my faith talking. I pulled up and quipped nonchalantly while putting away my picks and probes, "Ah, t'ain't nothing, Muthsera. The locks around Mournhold are tougher than this one."_

 _"Da, this one agrrrees." R'siiri playfully tapped my left pauldron with a paw, grinning. "Comparred to Chorrrol, these locks arrre easy 'pickings' even forrr young R'siirrri, let alone talented Masterrr Drrrevas."_

 _Gods_ damn _, did she have to purr my name like that?! In front of_ Glimmer-Void _no less?!_

 _The Argonian legend laughs briefly before remarking playfully, "Oh, don't look so embarrassed, young Dunmer. Why," she paused to push the temple doors open, letting the priests and their guards move carefully past us to investigate the ruins before continuing to quip right back at me, "were I fifty years younger and working closely with a strapping young lad like you, I'd be purring just as much as little R'siiri here, if not louder, haha!"_

 _Poor R'siiri ducks her head, throwing her hood over her face to hide the furious blush she's no doubt sporting; hells, my face feels hot enough to fry an egg on!_

 _Oh, and Ellie's giving me a questioning look; I shake my head and roll my eyes, showing that the whole deal isn't serious._

 _Glimmer-Void saw, however, and looked like she was about to rib me again-_

 _Rrrrumbl-HSSSSSSS!_

 _"MIASMA! GET BACK!"_

 _"EEEEEYAAHHHH-KKKKKK!"_

 _The diggers in the middle of the floor broke through into the vaults, releasing a black wave of rot that killed three of their number before the mages could raise enough shields to funnel the deadly miasma out the shattered dome above us._

 _"BY THE_ NINE, _what in the hells, Dunmer?!" the Imperial Legate roars at the Redoran Captain while the rest of us slowly relax, "You said this place wasn't trapped!"_

 _I tune out the resultant dick-waving argument and gesture at my fellow pathfinder, indicating we should do our job and check for further traps; R'siiri nods sharply, face grim, and pulls up her scented scarf, drawing her crossbow. I do the same, except all I have is my recurve bow, which I've only ever used for hunting in the lands around Mournhold._

 _Still, better something than nothing. Don't want to end up like Vos and Heimdeir, the men who took care of my basic training, ripped apart by the Ash Horrors that met us at our landing site and holed our boats, their guts strewn about the beach._

 _I swallow my fear and anxiety, and shuffle forward._

 _While the stupid argument gets more heated, necessitating Glimmer-Void's shouting for order, I take point and carefully edge up to the hole, the digger's corpses surrounded by regurgitated blood._

 _"Drevas!" Ellie calls; I tilt my head in her direction to show I'm listening, "It's some kind of lung-eating blight! Be careful!"_

'Like you need to tell _me_ that,' _I think grumpily, shuffling right up to the edge and looking down; too dark. I hold out my hand to R'siiri and rasp, "Torch."_

 _She hands me one after a couple seconds. I drop it down into the dark as the rest of the expedition edges closer-_

 _…_

 _-I feel my gorge rise at the sight of hundreds of corpses. My kinsmen. Young and old, babes at their dead mother's breasts, guard's armor black and runny with death and rot._

 _They sought a redoubt, stuffed cloth into the entryways to keep the ash from the volcano and Vivec's destruction out, but they lit fires. They wanted light, and when the magicka potions ran out…_

 _An entire town, suffocated in the dark, entombing themselves in exchange for a little light._

 _I wept for the sight of it. I wasn't the only one. Some of the expedition had family here. The Nerevarine was silent in her grief._

 _Both R'siiri and Ellie stayed in my tent that night. But no one slept, Vaermina mocking us by denying entry into her realm._

 **\|/**

"I… _I can't…_ " Ellie choked out in despair and exhaustion; my gaze swept over to her, having nothing else to look at.

Glimmer-Void lay between her and Neloth, both mages' hands, covered in flickering golden light, hovering over the diagonal valley in her armor. The Champion's breathing was raspy and irregular, blue blood trickling steadily from the corner of her mouth. _Bitter Mercy_ lay at her feet, even that glorious weapon's shine doing nothing to dissolve the boulder in my stomach.

 _'We're going to die.'_

Neloth's brow furrowed, sweat dripping down his face while he snarled, "Solan! Another magicka potion!"

"W-we have none left, Master, not after… after Sheogorath," the poor lad shudders, sounding like he was going to cry; _hells_ , the rest of us looked close to it ourselves. The unspeakable awfulness of that place hadn't been given time to settle in our minds before these fresh horrors were added.

" _Your fault."_

My eyes whipped over to the speaker, Minka, glaring at me with the utmost hate, gripping her Captain's sword in her Bonemold-covered hands like a lifeline; a biting retort rose to my lips-

"Quiet," even dying, the Nerevarine's voice was strong and commanding, "Don't… don't blame him…" she coughed twice and finished, despite Neloth's urging to preserve her strength, "…or… yourself, for my b-being a reckless, o-old lizard."

 _'But she's right,'_ I thought bitterly, hating myself, _'It's my fault.'_

 **\|/**

 _"FUCKING **RUN**!"_

 _My mace shattered another of the Ash Spawn, lightning bursting where the hammer made contact with its head._

 _We were nearly surrounded, the only way out in the direction of a jagged crack in the rocks to the south, not fifty yards away._

 _In this ash storm, full of enemies, our only chance at safety may as well have been in Hammerfell._

 _Aleks' sword whipped through a screaming Ash Horror, one of the lesser bastards, before we scrambled after the rest of the party, their flanks protected by the Redoran remnants and Ellie on one side, Glimmer-Void and Neloth on the other. "When we get back, I'm staying in the Cornerclub for a_ month, _Dre! Feel like joining me?"_

 _I don't respond at first, busy flinging a lightning bolt into another Horror, "I'll send you a postcard from Cyrodiil! I'll be," pause, dodge another fireball, lightning again, "getting as far from this blighted place as possible!"_

 _He pauses to grin at me, "Aye, might just- HKK!"_

 _A black, dripping tendril pierces his body from left to right, going through his heart and both lungs, missing my face by inches as I fall on my arse with a cry of terror._

 _Another Arcane Abomination. Like Sadrith Mora. Like_ Sheogorad.

 _Aleks' corpse gets lifted up to one of the spindly creature's mouths, bones and armor shattering loudly over the hissing winds as nightmarish teeth crunch down on one of my oldest friend's body. It vanishes to wherever the beast's gullet is located and the horror turns its many eyes to me._

 _I jerk away, terrified. The action saved my life, another tendril whipping right through the space my head had just occupied._

 _Spells would only feed it. We discovered that in the blighted ruins of Dagon Fel. Scrambling to my feet as screams of terror and death fill my ears and mind, I whip a throwing dagger at the beast._

 _It blocks it almost lazily. I flee, weaving side to side in an attempt to throw its aim off._

 _I'm nearly to the crack when a glancing blow catches me in the thigh. I know it's glancing because I don't immediately die or get sliced open; my armor just cracks from the impact and I'm sent tumbling through the air._

 _Ground – fiery sky – Ellie's screaming – ground again – sky –_ ow!

 _I land on my back, stars glittering in my vision, exhausted from the constant fighting, but I have to get up! I promised Master Ged and his missus I'd come home safe! That I'd bring Ellie home safe!_

 _I HAVE TO SURVIVE!_

 _Drawing another dagger, I raise my head to glare at the fiend, getting a good look at it; the legs are spindly, as are the four whipping tendrils sprouting from a bulbous, pulsing sphere at the top of its eggplant-shaped body; through a break in the ash storm, I see that parts of that bloated, eye-and-grinning-mouth-covered body look like Dunmer faces, contorted in pain and terror._

 _Aleks' face is among them._

 _Its mouths grin, drooling black ichor, three tendrils lashing towards me._

 _I roll out of the way, flinging a dagger into one of its eyes with a rage-filled scream, "DIE IN THE VOID, DEMON!"_

 _It screeches in frustration, like a rusty nail over glass; blood roaring in my ears, drowning out all other sound, I'm about to fling another dagger-_

 _-it kicks ash in my face, covering the lenses of my chitin helm. I leap back instinctually, the air parting in the wake of another whipping tendril, wiping the thick volcanic dirt from my vision as I do so._

 _"Fool boy! Get away!" the Redoran soldiers move forward to aid me with the beast, all four of them… all that's left of the company of eighty-five we set out with._

 _Glimmer-Void moves forward as well, slicing through the lesser creatures swarming around us with unnatural ease, protecting the rest of the expedition; Ellie and Neloth are dragging the wounded into the redoubt. There's so few of us uninjured, now, and the Ash Blight would infect any open wounds, turning the victims into more Horrors, to say nothing of what it does to powerful mages._

 _R'siiri lets out a yowl of defiance and loosed a bolt at the Abomination, holding her crossbow one-handed, dragging the last Legionnaire toward the redoubt with the other hand, the man's guts trailing in the ash from where they're spilling out of his split-open belly and_ Gods, will I ever be able to look Master in the eye after all this?

 _But first, important things: another Redoran soldier dies, his head sliced off when he gets too close to the damn thing; moving into the center of the thing's vision, I try to distract it so the soldiers can put the filthy thing down._

 _It worked on Sheogorad, though we lost most of the expedition in that horrible, unspeakable place. It might work here._

 _Another knife lands solidly in a bleeding red eye, milky white ichor spraying as the demon roars with anger at the ants chipping away at it._

 _I scream at the thing, drawing a boot dagger, trying to goad it into focusing on me to give the Captain and his remaining men a chance, "C'mon you fuck-ugly, blighted, slovenly FETCHER! C'mon then!"_

 _Its eyes all turn to look at me, pinning me in place, freezing my muscles with an unnatural will; almost casually, it tears two of the soldiers open, including the Captain, their innards spraying over the ash._

 _It speaks, polluting the air with a taste like curdled milk, " **YouUU wILL Die heeeREE and FUeL the ReTURn of HOUSE DAGOTH**."_

 _My blood runs cold, all hope leaving me. The tendril rips through the air, aiming at my body-_

CHINNNNG!

 _-and ricochets off_ Bitter Mercy _, the legendary spear vibrating from the blow_. _The Nerevarine's body is cloaked in starlight, her ebony mail shining like a white flame of purity in the blighted dark of this living nightmare, her voice a divine conglomeration of hundreds of people, men and women, echoing across the wastes in her roared challenge:_

 _" WE DESTROYED YOU ONCE, DAGOTH UR, CLEANSED YOUR TAINT FROM MUNDUS, AND WE SHALL RETURN YOU TO THE ABYSS ONCE MORE!"_

 _" **NEREVAR!** " the monster howls in such hate and rage that the sound becomes a physical force, knocking me and the last Redoran, who's recovered her Captain's Daedric claymore, onto our backs._

 _But Glimmer-Void stands firm, unshaken and unafraid before the truth of the horrors we've faced since coming to Vvardenfell. Hope gleams in my heart again; she killed him once before, she can do it again!_

 _The tendrils whip down, trailing black ruin-_

Bitter Mercy _shines like ten thousand stars-_

 **\|/**

"Boy…" rasps Glimmer-Void, no longer able to lift her head, "…come h-here."

My legs feel like lead as I stumble in her direction, trying not to look at the corpses littering the floor and the hollow eyes of my companions; Ellie lets out another defeated sob, trying to find magic to heal our savior, despite being spent.

"Oh, stop it girl," Glimmer-Void knocks my best friend and love's hands away, "I am… already dead. Save your strength."

And then R'siiri is there, silent as a shadow, leading a sobbing Ellie a little further away. Neloth glares hard at me while I kneel at the hero's right side.

The Argonian coughs a few times, gathering her strength, then grabs my hand; I lift it, thinking she's seeking comfort or what have you, but she somehow musters the strength to break my grip and grab the side of my head, pulling me close so our eyes meet.

There are no tears in Glimmer-Void's eyes, only _fire_ , and it shows in her voice when she speaks, "Some… some will say you were reckless… others will say this was your fault… _do not listen_ , Drevas of Mournhold. This e-expedition was my idea… and you are very brave, to not flinch in the face of death."

Another round of hacking coughs interrupts her, Neloth shunting more magic into her body, trying to keep her alive for another few minutes; once she'd mastered herself, the powerful woman waved Neloth away. He took a break, and she met my eyes again.

"That recklessness would kill lesser fools… but you have something those fools don't have… _luck,_ boy. It's not… b-bravery… that makes a Champion, or a Hero. We're the lucky ones," Glimmer-Void takes a few wet breaths and continues, voice becoming weaker with each rasped word, "…but they will still curse you. Tell them what the beast said, and tell it true; and once you have told… the story of this place… you will _earn_ this sacrifice… through deeds, and your life in service."

"To whom?" I whisper, thinking of Divayth Fyr, her mentor; I didn't much want to work for the Telvanni, but this was the _Nerevarine_ asking!

But she grins, "Not… _whom…_ but _what._ " So saying, the Argonian hisses weakly at Ellie, "You. Altmer girl. There's… a red key, on a leather cord a-about my… neck… fetch it for me…" Ellie hastens to obey, Neloth shunting a bit more magic into Glimmer-Void, the other members of the cave coming closer, the Argonian whispering weakly, "… I… I'd get it myself, but I… I no longer have the strength…"

Once Ellie retrieved the key, my oldest and dearest friend pressed it into my hands before propping Glimmer-Void's head in her lap, "Ah, thank ye, lass," she let out a single cough, then addressed me again, "First, when ye get back, boy, have this Telvanni fuck-wit introduce ye to Divayth," Neloth's lips pinched at that, but she kept talking, "If he don't, I'll come back from the… Vales of Twilight, and put me boot up his arse…" she took a few more ragged breaths and continued, "Once you meet Old Fyr, ask 'im about the Last Dwarf, and what the mad codger told me… before his end.

"Then…" she dissolved into a series of ragged, powerful coughs; I shunted what Restoration magic I could muster into her, Neloth doing the same with a grunt of exertion. Our combined efforts seemed to stabilize her, but she still remained silent for a moment, gathering her wits.

Then she whispered, "Keep yer bloody tits in, Azura, I'll be up in a second," Glimmer-Void blew out a breath and continued, "Second… follow the road for six leagues, heading due west of Mournhold, then head southwest-by-west for another league, into the forest; there's… a dead tree. Check… the north-facing knothole," she pulled me closer, looking intently into my eyes, her furiously whispered words only for my ears, "The key in the box… read the book… then… hide it again, where only you can find it. Understand?"

I nodded, feeling tears prickling at the edges of my eyes; her gaze was becoming unfocused, so I shunted a little more magic into her. Neloth took the hint and kept up a weak but steady stream of magicka…

As the Nerevarine hissed at me, her voice becoming high, weak and desperate, "You will serve… all your long life… Drevas of Mournhold… You will serve no nation, no… no king…. No flag shall you carry… You serve _Tamriel_ … You serve _Nirn_ … The same oath… I swore to my father… I bequeath t-to you… S-So that… the Skywatch's vigil, doesn't end…" she seems to look _through_ me more than _at_ me when she asks, "Will you swear?"

Not hesitating, I answer, "Yes." Whether one hundred or a thousand years might pass, I'd still say yes.

There, beneath the Ashlands, Glimmer-Void took a raspy breath, and hissed with her last strength, voice sure and even, "Neloth, the ring on my left pointer. Collect it." He did, unstrapping her gauntlet to get at it.

 _The Ring of the Wind._

Then, she jerked my head, to make sure I was paying attention, and spoke the oath, "Be without fear… in the face of your enemies… be brave and upright in the eyes of the Gods… speak the truth, _always_ , even if it leads to your death… safeguard the helpless, do no wrong… that is your Oath, Knight of the Skywatch."

My heart is cold in my chest as the Ring is pressed into my free hand.

Then Glimmer-Void's hand shifts, tearing the tip of my ear away; I wince, grabbing at the appendage…

But the Nerevarine's grinning; I see now, the jagged chunk taken out of the fin on the left side of her head. "And _that_ is so you never forget it…" she trails off, breathing hard, eyes becoming clouded and unfocused.

Audibly gulping, Neloth speaks hoarsely, reverently, his trademark sarcasm and scorn utterly absent, "Arise, Knight."

I stand. The lead feeling is gone from my legs. I'm no longer tired. I feel like I could take Dagon in a fistfight and _win._

Glimmer-Void laughs softly, knowingly, then says weakly, "Make sure they all get home, lad." I nod, and she relaxes, a look of absolute seriousness appearing on her face.

Then she addresses us all, though her voice is so weak we have to strain to hear it, "Now… one last thing… for all of you…" we lean in closer, "Never… re-repeat what I… am about to t-t-tell you… take it to your _graves_." a round of agreeing nods.

Three shuddering breaths later, she drops a mountain on us, " _I am Lifts-Her-Tail. The Lusty Argonian Maid_ is non-fiction, and an entirely truthful account of my affair with Crassius Curio, whose work I happily proofread and edited for a cut of his profits." A girlish giggle leaves her maw while we all gape at the Nerevarine in shock and horror, "And… you'll tell… no-one… because they won't believe you."

And she died, last breath leaving her with a rattle, a bright grin on her face.

My eyebrow twitches. Too much. I'm fairly sure I've finally gone mad.

Suddenly, shining starlight and moonlight burst from Glimmer-Void's every scale, blinding us; when the spots clear, only the _Spear of Bitter Mercy_ remains of Glimmer-Void's gear, Azura taking her Grand Champion to the Vales of Twilight rather than leave her to the corruption of these blighted wastes.

Letting the silence drag on for a moment, I shake myself to regain my wits, rubbing the bridge of my nose when everyone flinches at my sudden movement. "Well," I drawl in a shaky attempt of nonchalance, stooping to collect the _Spear_ before giving everyone a _look_ I learned from Master Ged, "I heard her say to anonymously donate half our collected loot to orphanages around Morrowind. You?" I add to Neloth, who nods thoughtfully and reaches for his pack.

"Aye," Aegnir mutters, sounding stupefied, adding, "Fine last command." Melessi nods frantically from his side, still staring at where Glimmer-Void had just been lying in awe.

Ellie is silent, looking absolutely _scandalized_ , but R'siiri just waggles a finger in her ear, "This one's earrrs must be going. All R'siirrri hearrrd was the howling wind, Drrrevas." _'That Elsweyr accent is going to be the death of me, someday.'_

Solan gulps audibly, speaking in an awed rasp, "By Mephala, she's right. No one'll ever believe it."

Scoffing, Minka glared at the lad, "What the hells are you on about? She told us to donate our money to orphanages, like the Knight said."

Humming in agreement, Neloth pours out cups of flin and begins handing them out, "Listen to your elders and betters, young Solan: some things are best left in the dark."

We stand there, in a rough circle, holding cups of the amber liquor, heads bowed in silent reverence.

Finally, I raise my cup, "To Glimmer-Void, the Nerevarine, Horator of Morrowind, and," I grin, "the sweetest little maid you ever did see!"

That got some laughs, but Ellie punched me again. Totally worth it.

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N: That was so sad. Llewellyn, play Für Elise.**

 **Reviewer responses:**

 **Me Myself and I: The reasons behind the Night of Tears and resultant war go into more depth here than in canon, but you'll have to wait for the next story arc to find out how. Anyone can learn a couple destruction spells; as for the Flare spell, it's a low-level fire spell that was slashed in Skyrim because it's not pretty enough. For further details on the magic systems I'm using, please see Morrowind and Oblivion, because Skyrim's magic system is just _shit._ Next, the hunt for the Forge is part of the next story arc, so you won't have to wait _too_ long. Finally, Hermione's language is partly a product of her environment, partly due to her amnesia erasing that part of herself. Thanks for the review!**

 **Draco Oblivion: The Hagravens get another chance later on to be sufficiently horrifying, don't you worry! The Forsworn redoubt is actually Madanach's seat of power and only one of their storehouses, hence the security; don't feel bad for them, _at all_. By comparison, their true cause is only slightly less diabolical than Harkon's. You'll find out why later, along with the reason for the Snow Elves hating the Nords and vice-versa.**

 **Oh, wait, I forgot to do the currency spread! Here you go!**

 **1 Gold=1 Drake**

 **100 Drakes=1 Septim**

 **So that's 10,000 gold for every returned explorer.**

 **The next chapter of the story proper should be posted in February at the very latest. Till then!**

 **~Baked**

Next Time: The Betrayed Part 2: Darkfall


	14. Chapter 12: The Betrayed Part 2

**In case it isn't clear, I don't own anything I write about, other than the plot and OCs.**

 **Super-sized chapter to make up for the long wait! Enjoy!**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **. . . . .  
Chapter 12  
The Betrayed Part 2:  
Darkfall  
. . . . .**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **. . . . .  
20th Second Seed, 4E201  
Darkfall Passage, Chantry of Auri-El  
. . . . .**

Despite the shimmering, warm light on the edges of the portal, there was no feeling of resistance when I moved through it; it was no different than stepping into another room, though the action left a slight bit of warmth in my body, which, I found, would linger in my bones as long as I lived.

On the other hand, the smell awaiting me was, unfortunately, dreadfully familiar.

As was the waxy figure dressed in black chitin, taking a crap not three feet in front of me.

It barely had a chance to be surprised by our sudden appearance before I buried my right gauntlet in its face, Scales following up with a goring charge. The wayward Falmer's life ended with a soft _crunch_ against the wall; I was already moving forward.

Too dark, barely able to see, I whispered, " ** _Lass Yah_** _!_ " One contact, looks like another Falmer, about forty feet away; nearer to me, some type of tube-like flower grew out of a craggy rock, giving off a soft pink glow that barely illuminated the winding passage. On the ceiling, the same blue-gold glittering crystals I'd seen in Blackreach provided just enough light to see the black-grey-striped shape of Scales lurking near the cavern's entrance and the broken archway I'd just come through.

Which disgorged, in order, Farkas, Serana and Drevas, all of them tense and moving carefully with weapons drawn; my mentor used Aura Whisper almost immediately upon arrival, eyes whipping to the same pink cloud I'd seen before searching for other threats.

Staring down that dark tunnel while my companions readied themselves for this gauntlet, I mentally refreshed myself on the Falmer's capabilities, both from memory and subsequent studies in Breezehome, _'Acute hearing bordering on echolocation, allowing them to use archery and ranged magic with unnerving accuracy; can use tools, and therefore are skilled with weapons, strong enough to give most opponents trouble; not very dangerous individually, do_ not _get swarmed… unless your armor can handle their (usually) chitin weapons and armor, which mine_ should _be able to… still, don't take the chance; excellent sense of smell and direction; shamans are, usually, magically adept, deal with these before engaging large groups.'_

To say nothing of the Chaurus, enormous insectoid horrors that, unlike Hagravens, aren't something discussed in polite society, mainly due to how terrifying they can be for children or those of weak constitution; ranging in size from a small dog to as large as a _daedroth_ , the multitudinous stories and official reports Master Drevas has collected on these creatures, while differing in tone and verse, all agree on one thing: barring the Falmer who raise them, they are too dangerous to either tame or capture, _kill on sight._

I had no problem with that.

Still, I wasn't about to go into this without being able to see, and even with the Night Eye spell, the cavern was dark as Vaermina's basement. Luckily for me, I had Kresh.

 _'Kresh. Can you help me see in the dark?'_

 _Yes, mistress, but I won't be able to otherwise assist you in battle if I do._

 _'I'll take that chance.'_

That cool, furry feeling rippled up my body again, like during the dragon fight, and the world around me became lit as though it were a sunny, foggy day. At least I could see now; the tunnel I was looking at curved right after about twenty feet, and then we'd run into the aforementioned Falmer… which, if the pink clouds were correct, was now scratching its ass.

Readying _Stormbringer_ and glancing at Scales, I began making my way carefully forward, trying not to think about the smell of this place.

Shit, piss, blood, mold, and… that musky scent was _familiar_ , though only recently so. I didn't want to think about what it entailed.

Drevas, however, spoke up, his quiet rasp not carrying beyond our party and confirming my thoughts, "Figures that portal would lead us right into the breeding hive," I fought down a shiver of revulsion as he continued, "Be ready for a fight. Once they figure out we're here, they're going to fall on us like an avalanche."

 _Splendid._ The second Falmer died silently, to Scales once again, and we continued through the musty, dark, twisting cavern. Drevas and I used Aura Whisper every once in a while, but there weren't many of the buggers about, only lone lookouts that were dealt with easily…

Not until we made it to the first chamber of this place, nearly an hour in, where the Falmer were keeping a goodly number of their Chaurus.

That, and the resident shaman, on the other side of the domed cave, let out a shriek of warning as soon as Scales got near the entryway.

I paid her back with a bolt of fiery lightning in the face, courtesy _Stormbringer_. Then a bug the size of Scales spat a stream of acid at me.

Between Kresh and my field experience, it wasn't hard to dodge, and Scales was already leaping into the pit the bugs were ushering from like a black chittering tide, chitin and insectoid viscera flying through the air as the clannfear merrily worked through their numbers; _Stormbringer_ 's rapid fire took out their first line before Farkas let out a roar and leapt at the critters, Dwemer greatsword cleaving through them easily, my Nord friend deftly avoiding claws and streams of acid.

 _'He's clearly done this before_ ,' I thought, turning my attention back to the Falmer as an arrow missed my face by inches.

In the corner of my eye, a Falmer that was about to shoot me took a black-feathered arrow to the face, one of its guards dying similarly before Drevas rushed forward, mace drawn to meet them. Another Falmer, in heavy armor running at my left, was bisected by a red ribbon, Ana stepping up herself. I claimed another kill, one that was dragging a steel greatsword toward Farkas-

 ** _SKREEEEEEEEEEE!_**

-and a Gods-awful scream echoed from all around us, seeming to come from everywhere! It echoed in my ears long after it went silent, but there was no mistaking the cry's purpose.

A signal, an alarm that intruders were afoot, a call to arms…

' _Shite…_ '

Out of a hole, high up on the wall to my right, three more Falmer leapt forth, one of them letting loose with a fireball that missed Scales by inches; this was repeated in three other barely-seen holes around the chamber, the blind creatures rushing us from all sides!

The little fuckers ambushed us!

Spinning around, I take out two before the third leaps at me, swinging its sword with a hateful hiss; I leap away as the sound of _Starfall_ shattering its enemies rings out, deftly holstering my crossbow and drawing the _White Fang_ for the first time.

It _sings_ in my hands, the magic of the deadly spear feeling less like a weapon and more like a musical instrument; not delicate, never that, but with twanging 'strings' running beneath the crisscrossing ebony grips, calling out to me, the _Fang_ singing happily at being wielded by one worthy of its might.

Now wasn't the time to think on how I knew such things; besides, it was a Daedric Artifact. That I was getting such a feeling from it wasn't all that surprising, on the whole.

A tickle at the back of my mind signals Kresh lending me his knowledge of how the _Fang_ should be wielded, the Alpha of the Wild Hunt speaking calm encouragement into my mind:

 _The Wild Anthem, mistress, is in your heart and magic, and the_ White Fang _is your instrument. Play._

So knowing, I start calling on my magic and plucking the 'strings' inside the _Fang_ as my opponent lunges at me, leading with its shield and screaming like a banshee.

A faint line, grey in the yellow mist of Kresh's night-vision, appears in my sight, the _Fang_ seeming to want to move toward the line with a clarion _trill_ of magic that touches my soul, spurning me towards haste.

I oblige.

The chitin shield parts like paper in the _Fang's_ wake, along with its victim's arm; screaming with pain and fury, the creature stabs wildly at me.

Still plucking the 'strings' with a rhythm that sings a song of valor and glory in my heart, I deftly dance around and past the Falmer and meet three more, one aiming an arrow at my face; I duck and stab blindly backwards, almost kneeling as the arrow flies an inch over my head and buries itself in my first opponent's throat as the _Fang_ 's blade pieces it's heart, before lunging in counter to the charging creatures.

Line, _slash_ ; two steps left, one forward, stab low, _slash upward_ ; right one step, forward dash, _and swipe._

I twirl as the song reaches a victorious crescendo, smiling at the warm, free feeling in my soul, all three Falmer crumpling to the ground in my wake, but a slight discordant note makes itself known, urging me to swift action…

Again blindly, I hurl the _Fang_ at the source of discord at the end of my twirl; a heavily armored Falmer, armed with a crackling Daedric shortsword, gets the spear in the chest before it can sneak up on my Ana… who turns away from where she'd been admiring me to see the fiend, her awe turning to shock.

The song ends, as does the fight, with a distant _KREEEEE_ and the sound of the other Falmer retreating; a check with Aura Whisper confirms this.

" _Damn_ , Hermione," grins Farkas from where he's stood over the gutted remains of what looks like the bastard mix of a dragonfly, wasp and praying mantis, "I knew you were good with a javelin, but _shit_ , that was smooth."

I blink as the soothing feeling of the _Fang's_ song starts fading, resulting in a feeling of… _fear_ , and _want_. Reaching out with my hand and magic, I whistle and pluck those _wanting_ strings…

 _Ching._ And, with a grey flash, it's in my hand again! _Wow!_

Out loud, I comment with a grin of my own, "This. Spear. Is _. Awesome_!" I toss it into the air, letting it spin and feeling a joyful trill leave its haft to warm my bones, before I catch and sheathe it with a single motion, calling over to my girlfriend and lover, "Ana! Are all Daedric weapons like this?!"

"Oh, sure, ignore your well-travelled mentor who happens to be an expert on the Daedra," drawled Drevas before Serana could answer, "To answer your question: it depends on the maker. The _Spear of Bitter Mercy_ could return to the wielder in the same way the _Fang_ just did, so it's probably Hircine's doing…" he trailed off, glancing at me with a suspicious frown, "I have to ask, though: is Kresh guiding your movements? You were fluid like water, just now." Serana blushed a little behind her helm; oh, so _that's_ why she was watching me!

The Alpha of the Wild Hunt spoke up then, happily, _excited_ even! _Tell the Dunmer that I am not, mistress! The_ White Fang _is but the instrument; you are the conductor, and those who were Most Favored before you are the sheet music, the Wild Anthem!_

As much as I love magic, sometimes it gets weird; this was one of those times. "Uh…" I haltingly explained that to my companions, but it was Serana who seemed to understand the best.

Seeing as she simplified Kresh's fanaticism, "Oh, so the weapon is a conduit to the Hunting Grounds… and probably the Vales of Twilight, given that it was also forged by Azura… so those they've Favored in the past assist the current wielder in battle. That's… quite the amazing item!" she smiled at me as we moved to the exit tunnel, "No wonder the Snow Elves revered it so; they must've thought the spirits of the former Knight-Commanders lived on in those blue runes."

True enough, the tiny runes on the _Fang's_ black-banded grip seemed to be glowing a little brighter than before; I smiled myself, still on a bit of a high from the _wonderful_ feeling that had flowed through me! With something like this at my side, clearing these caves shouldn't take too long!

But… Kresh said it was in my heart. Did that mean the souls of those Most Favored, who came before me, were connected to me? Was it through Kresh, or my title? Or was it some trick of Oblivion's nature?

Goodness, that was a little heavy, and we were only just getting started! ' _I'd better wait till we can catch a long break, so I can question Kresh and examine this connection in full!_ '

My mentor reflected my thoughts "Discussions on the amazingness of that spear aside," his face was grim, _Starfall_ 's haft creaking as Drevas' grip tightened, "The Falmer have fallen back and set up regular ambushes; the cavern seems to be irregular from here on, so footing will be treacherous, and, as this is the Falmer we're up against, there'll be traps aplenty… I'm taking point, now; given how heavily armored I am, these buggers'll be more annoyance for me than anything. Scales," the clannfear chirped questioningly, "Rearguard; make sure none sneak up on us, kill any we miss. Everyone, scarves up; they might've put down poison clouds. Wouldn't be the first time I've run into such a measure," I pulled mine up from my collar, the rotting smell of the place instantly cut off by the 'fresh air' enchantment on the fabric, "From here until the next chamber, just kill anything that looks unfriendly."

Farkas cleared his throat pointedly, raising an eyebrow at the heavily armored Dunmer.

Which made my Ana and I share a giggle and Master Drevas roll his eyes with a humored sigh, "That _isn't_ me, if you please," then he drew a glass boot dagger, eyes becoming dark red; I felt a pulse of magic ripple outward from his body before he spoke again, voice like steel on stone, " _Let's go_."

 **. . . . .**

The next three hours of my life were lost in the blur of terrifying, desperate fighting through that twisting cavern; the Falmer sprang from their hidey-holes whenever we got close before rushing us blindly. Chaurus, both the ground-bound variety and their horrific second iterations that fucking _fly_ , seemed to just pop out of the floor and the walls, always coming at our flanks, the horde we were walking into trying its level-best to slaughter us at every turn.

In fact, if it wasn't for our preparations and Master Drevas, I doubt we would've made the second chamber.

I quickly discovered, in the first minutes, that using _Stormbringer_ was just a bad idea; there wasn't enough space to use any of its settings effectively, and the Falmer were falling on us with enough regularity to render ranged weapons inert.

Not that I was _complaining_ , because the _White Fang_ was one incredible weapon! So long as I infused my magic with my intentions (in this case, _kill all the Falmer, protect my Ana, take no prisoners_ ) the _Fang_ was happy to dance to my tune, making my body tingle in this way to adjust my grip on it, or in that way to swerve around a blow.

But it wasn't perfect; no weapon is truly perfect, after all. If there was a perfect weapon for every situation, the Oblivion Crisis would've been extremely brief, the Legion tearing Mankar the Wanker (as history remembered him) apart before he could even open _one_ Gate to the Deadlands.

Arrows rang off my armor, mace swings digging small gouges whenever they got close enough, my chainmail becoming dirty with blood and grime from my victims as their bodies fell against mine. Footing was indeed treacherous, more from the rivers of spilt blood and organs left in our wake than the rocky terrain, though the latter _certainly_ didn't help. I must've stubbed my toe on every rock in the cave, going forward!

Still, I danced with my Ana and Farkas, Serana's blood ribbons streaming around the party to tear into any Falmer that got too close, my spear and Farkas' sword darting out and around, felling our opponents even as the fiends occasionally scored a hit or two. By the end of that terrible gauntlet, which saw the liberal use of fire to destroy dozens of Chaurus egg sacs and more than a few Reductors thrown into their ambush holes, my body felt like one giant bruise, even _with_ the occasional healing spell, and both my Ana and Farkas looked similar: dinged up and pissed off that our nice clean armor was now covered with Chaurus bits and Falmer blood!

But Drevas didn't dance with us; no, my mentor, the Dragonborn, moved ahead of us, making himself a target for the brunt of the Falmer's assaults while Scales moved in the shadows behind us, making sure we weren't followed and that our victims stayed down. He danced to his own tune, a terrifying display of the raw power and _experience_ he held, every move precise and deadly.

Like some terrible god of war, the ebony-clad Dunmer waded through the Falmer like he'd been born to it, _Starfall_ shattering bodies, armor and weapons alike, the dreadful black hammer leaving streaks of blood and flames in its wake as my mentor swung it again and again; at one point, a Thunderbolt hit Drevas in center-mass, but it didn't even slow him, his Masterwork armor absorbing the magic. He just slashed the air with his boot knife, a ribbon of molten malachite whipping through the air and cutting deep into the brains of the shaman that dared attack him. When the knife was, eventually, spent, he buried the pommel into a Chaurus Hunter (the flying terrors) that'd tried to creep up on him through one of the many cracks in the cave wall, before drawing another dagger and _roaring_ his challenge to the fiendish creatures assailing us:

" _C'MON THEN, YOU HALFLING S'WITS! BOETHIAH'S PROVEN HAS FOUND YOU! COME AND **BLEED** FOR THE GOD-ANCESTOR!"_

Fuck, but Drevas is _scary_ sometimes. I didn't comment on his behavior, though, partly because I'm not one to judge (Hircine's Most Favored and all), partly because I knew he was just doing that to draw the Falmer's attention, but mainly because I was fighting for my life!

Hundreds of Falmer must've died in those hours; by the time we reached the final, _uphill_ approach (' _May the Nine damn these fuckers to the Abyss!'_ I thought while Shielding the party from a shower of large stones), the scents of death were heavy on us all, even our scarves overcome by the sheer volume of bodily fluids caking our persons.

Near my entire body was _slathered_ in blood and _worse_ , and my companions were no better; but the Falmer were hanging back, around the next bend, at the top of a steep incline twenty feet away and up, so we took the breather for what it was, Scales standing guard and taking a piss on the wall near the bend.

The resultant furious screeching from above us told me our… _hosts_ didn't much appreciate that.

"Whew!" laughed Drevas, unslinging his Toolbox and laying it in a relatively dry spot, "Gelebor wasn't kidding, there's a lot of these _fetchers_ about. More than last time I ran into a breeding hive. Oh, thanks Hermione," he added when I cleaned his armor off with a wave of my wand.

Gulping down a few breaths, I pointed out, "He… said a few thousand… we must've made quite the dent, just now." Farkas nodded, but his eyes looked unsure.

My mentor shook his head, red eyes narrowing as he removed green bottles from the Toolbox, passing one to each of us, "No, we've only killed a little over two hundred. Which is weird, as we're in their breeding hive, which are usually more heavily defended than this… something's wrong, here…"

When he lapsed into thoughtful silence, I looked at the label of the bottle he passed me:

 _HY (SF/R; HF/R; MF/R) (PR)-12H_

"Uh…" What?

Serana came to my rescue, pointing at each group of letters, "High yield, stamina, healing and magicka fortifier and regenerator, with poison resistance, twelve hour release. He explained it to me," she added when I sent her a questioning look, "on our last adventure." She sounded a little winded as well, but Master Drevas had given her a blood potion to go with the green bottle; once she'd downed the red potion, she looked a bit better.

Farkas was about to uncork his potion when my Ana stopped him, "Wait until we're about to attack before drinking that; trust me, once you drink it, you won't be able to sit still for twelve hours." Then she turned an expectant gaze on my mentor, who was fiddling with the dial on the Toolbox, still lost in thought.

Huh. I looked at the bottle again before putting it in one of my knapsack's pockets. This is what I'd be capable of, if I became a Master of Alchemy like Drevas.

Which also begged the question: where did he learn Alchemy? It was a difficult, time-consuming area of study, and as far as I knew, Drevas never stayed in one place long… Deciding to pass the time with analyzing this mystery, I ran down the timeline of his life in my head, as far as I knew it…

 _'His skill speaks of long experience, but he was a street rat, then a locksmith, before Vvardenfell, so it was afterward. Then… Elsewyr? No, he said he was an explorer there… but he puzzled out the Falmer potion without much effort, so he was already learned in the subject… Black Marsh? Possible, a lot of potions ingredients come out of that place. He doesn't talk about his time there much, aside from how he met Scales and a few other tidbits… I wonder why…'_

Before I could think on it any further, the subject of my thoughts let out a frustrated sound, "It doesn't make any sense. The ambushes, sure, but with the numbers they have, the _fetchers_ should've overrun us by now."

"You're not actually complaining about having it easy, are you Drevas?" my Ana snarked teasingly, Farkas giving an agreeing grunt. I was on their side as well; if the little monsters aren't swarming us while we're in the middle of their hive, that's a good moment in my book!

A Chaurus tried to ambush Scales then, darting down the hill and trying to take a bite out of our Daedra friend; the clannfear alpha ripped it apart with almost casual ease before going back to his silent watch.

The brief distraction gone, my mentor turned baleful red eyes on us all, "You don't get it… We're in one of their _nests_ , where their young are conceived, birthed and raised. Twice, I've ended up in one of these places; the Falmer defend them with almost reckless abandon. None of you probably noticed, but there were twenty-three traps leading up to this. Easily disarmed, but that's not the point; overwhelming numbers aside, not only is the lack of traps almost _insulting_ to someone of my caliber, it doesn't fit with what I know of the Falmer. Given previous attempts over the years, we should've been buried in _scores_ of traps both magical and mundane, to say nothing of the little buggers themselves."

He glared suspiciously at the way we should be going, "On top of that, there was the alarm we heard earlier; I'd bet every Septim I have they have a _Warmonger_ , an intelligent organizer and master of ambush tactics… but that wouldn't be surprising given the size of the settlement. What's alarming is the lack of constant attacks, which a Warmonger usually orders when an enemy arrives at the hive. They're expecting the next ambush to take us, which is stupid, even for the Falmer, and especially since," he paused, removing his scarf and taking a whiff of the air, lip curling in disgust before he replaced the fabric, "We're not far from the birthing chamber. They should be attacking us constantly."

 _Birthing chamber_. The suggestions that the name brought made my skin crawl.

While in Breezehome, during that single day where Drevas and Serana were away, Lydia, at my request, let me look at some after-action reports regarding the Falmer. They painted a grim picture that, unfortunately, explained why the corrupted beings survived for so long, answering the question I'd asked myself a million years ago, in the cruel dark of Blackreach.

Why were they still around, with most of the Dwemer's defenses still active?

 _Kidnappings_. Mainly of women, but they weren't picky. The Companions, Imperial Legion and various Hold militias sometimes managed to rescue the poor souls; if they were lucky, they even managed to find them before the monsters killed them.

There were _thousands_ of Falmer here, and Gelebor spoke of kidnappings in the past. It wasn't hard to arrive at the bitter conclusion: horrors greater even than those of Shriekwind were ahead, and we would bear witness.

But even with the numb cold of disgust and fear running through me, there was now a _fire_ in my belly. The Falmer were a plague, a blight on the otherwise beautiful land they inhabited.

For those who'd been violated by them, killed by them… I will bring their souls peace.

For the Falmer, I had only one thing to bring: _justice_ , the sword unsheathed. I'd worry about Drevas' misgivings later.

Farkas was of like mind with the last, snarling hatefully, " _Great,_ and because we can't fucking leave until this mad task is done, we can't even help anyone out of this accursed place," my mentor nodded grimly as he rose, "So what's the plan?" the Falmer shrieked again, right before a pile of stones came tumbling down the slope, crackling the whole way with arrows flying into the dirt a moment later, "The blighters seem ready for us."

As an answer, Drevas rolled his shoulders and murmured, "Serana, mind calling up some help?"

My girlfriend smirked before clasping her hands together, as though in prayer, "We take the potion right afterward?"

"Mmm," my mentor hummed agreeably, then looked at Farkas and I, "Stand back a moment, you two."

Magic thrummed from Serana's body, her joined hands pulsing with bright purple-black flames; slowly, her hands parted, a sphere of aether swirling over each finger, eyes pinched in focus but with a small smile on her face. Next to her, Drevas closed his eyes for a moment before a sphere of his own _blazed_ into existence in his left hand; unlike Serana's, it held a core of white that reminded me of starlight.

My Ana finished her spells first, whipping her right hand out, then her left, leaving two lines of five purple discs along the boulder-covered floor of the cave.

A red flash came, revealing what she'd summoned.

 _Hungers._ Five Hungers stood where Serana's right hand had cast, sending a trill of dread through me at the sight of the pale Daedric horrors; resistant to magic and most weapons, they were utterly terrifying, their long claws capable of tearing through ebony like wet paper. If not for Scales and _Stormbringer,_ the one in Shriekwind probably would've killed Farkas and me.

Behind them, four _daedroths_ , green-scaled skin shimmering with protective magics, let out laughing howls of challenge from where they flanked a titanic mass of heavily muscled grey flesh, massive horns at the top of its head nearly scraping the ceiling, a black and red warhammer taller than Drevas held in one hand, tusked mouth curved into an angry frown beneath shining void-white eyes.

A _Xivilai_. The Dremora's answer to the Redguard and Orsimer berserker-knights that defended the Battlespire, which were deployed in great numbers during both that fateful conflict and the more recent Oblivion Crisis.

My mouth hung open as the platoon of Daedric creatures charged up the incline with primal battle-cries, the Falmer shrieking in terror and rage at the fell host's approach. The sounds of clashing weapons, dying screams, and crackling spells echoed down to us.

Then my Ana stumbled a bit. I rushed to her side, giving her my shoulder to steady herself. "Are you alright?!" I shouted; it _was_ getting rather loud, above us.

Serana nodded, looking grateful if somewhat winded, "It's… ah… been awhile… since I used, _whew_ , that much magic!"

Then a _buzz_ of magic made my teeth itch; everyone's eyes whipped to Drevas, whose face seemed carved from stone such was his focus, the orb of violet flames in his hand audibly whining with raw _power._

He cast it over where Serana had summoned her host, but this _one_ spell looked like it took a lot out of my mentor, as he staggered and used the wall to support himself right after it left his hand. The reason why became immediately apparent, the purple flames clearing almost before the being they called into Mundus was fully formed.

Standing at nearly _Farkas'_ height was an ashen-grey feminine being with bird's talons for feet, wings for arms, and a long, barbed tail longer than the Daedra was tall waving behind it; currently, its wings were folded in front of it, but the face that stared balefully at us was gaunt and cruel and _knowing_ in a way that I'd never seen before. Its purple eyes seemed sprinkled with the same starlight of the summoning spell, and there was a presence about it that I'd not truly felt since the Underforge.

A Winged Twilight, one of Azura's elite.

Then a voice rang out, a chorus of bells tolling in our minds, **Your bidding, summoner?**

Drevas' answer was raspy with exhaustion but grim and steady with purpose, "There is a Falmer breeding hive somewhere above us, and the little buggers put an army between us and it. Kill as many as you can before the geas wears off."

The Twilight nodded once before turning that piercing gaze to me, **Hail, Most Favored of Hircine. When this journey has concluded and the Grand Champion of Molag Bal is felled, seek my Lady's altar near Winterhold, for she has expressed a desire to parlay with you.**

And then she was gone, leaving me reeling with the implications of such a message. _Azura_ wanted to talk to _me_?! Going so far as to have a Winged Twilight deliver a personal invite?!

I glared at Drevas, who shrugged, eyes calm, "At least it's not Malacath or Mora, and I doubt the Lady of Twilight would do anything to harm you. Now," he growled, tipping the green bottle toward us in toast, "be aware that once this potion wears off, we'll have to sleep for eight hours and go a day without before drinking another. On the bright side, barring a beheading or lost limb, it'll heal any damage you take." And he drank.

The sounds of screaming were still coming down towards us, but with less Daedric shrieking than before. _'Damnit, of course it won't be that easy_ ,' ripping the seal off the potion I'd been given, I glanced at Farkas, who'd already finished his before breaking the bottle on the ground.

"Whoa!" the young Nord shivered, grinning and looking at his hands, "That's got some kick, old Mer!" he looked at me, "Drink it Hermione. This is _great_!

Shrugging, I toasted, "For Tamriel, then," and drank, Serana doing the same a second later.

As soon as it hit my gut, I was suddenly vibrating with… ENERGY. Boundless, unlimited ENERGY.

By the magnificent trees of the Hunting Grounds and the sweet breath of Kyne, I felt like I could take that dragon from two weeks ago and _tear it apart with my bare hands!_ Screw Brynjolf and his stupid elixir, I needed to know how to make this potion _years_ ago!

I was practically bouncing in place by the time my Ana (who I could now _smell_ , and she smelled _fantastic_ underneath the scent of blood and rot) drew her daggers with a flourish and Drevas let out a satisfied "Ah!" before drawing his mace with a feral smile; now feeling _quite_ impatient, I blurted out, "Canwegonow? Igottagetthisoutofmysystem!"

Grinning, my mentor replied, "Certainly!"

And up we went!

 **. . . . .**

I didn't much pay attention to the ruins of the cavern above us, barely sparing the scores of Falmer and Chaurus corpses a glance even as I clambered over them. There was no sign of the Daedra beyond the screams echoing towards us from another black hole in the walls, which we made for with Alchemically-induced haste. Although, the cluster of chitinous cribs on one side of the chamber, burning with unearthly flame and surrounded by the eviscerated bodies of several female Falmer, did draw my attention for a moment.

But we couldn't tarry, not for loot or closer investigation of this grim place; none of us needed either, and we were all eager to see the light of Magnus again.

Another twisting cave, this one slowly spiraling up, was the site of our next challenge; unlike last time, however, we didn't have to fight through _all_ of it, though we were slowed by the sheer volume of corpses left in the wake of Drevas' and Serana's summons.

Halfway up, nearly an hour later, we found out what happened to the summoned Daedra.

Only the Xivilai and the Winged Twilight remained, drenched in blood and viscera, fighting like the demons they were, though not for long; right as we arrived, a Chaurus hunter leapt off the wall and buried its scythe-like claws into the hulking Daedra. Before it vanished in a swirl of purple light, it _bit_ the head off the large bug, killing it even while becoming a pincushion as it shielded the Twilight from retaliation with its body.

As the bat-winged Daedra twirled in place, tearing any who neared it to shreds, I aimed _Stormbringer_ 's corsairs past it, at the top of _another_ incline, and screamed out, "SURPRISE, YOU LITTLE BLIGHTERS!"

 _Cha-BZZK! Cha-BZZK! Cha-BZZK!_

And it all started over again, two more hours of grim work passing us by in the chaos of battle and death, though with greater ease than before, the Winged Twilight doing most of the work; screeching loud enough to wake the dead, it held the center of our steady advance, body twirling in a brutal dance of death. Any Falmer or Chaurus that came close was shredded by its claws and wings.

Happily, this meant Ana and I could hang back and fling spells and crossbow bolts over the heads of Master Drevas and Farkas as the men held the flanks, Scales watching our backs.

We'd nearly made the next (and hopefully final) chamber when the Winged Twilight took a Dwarven arrow in the face, dispelling it. Looking for the source, I found it'd been fired by…

" _Intruders!"_

 _"Protect the Masters!"_

 _"Protect the Breeders!_ "

Seven men and women, clearly malnourished but hardy enough to fight, charged into the fray with mindless screams; their eyes were empty of rational thought, bespeaking the unthinkable, mind-flaying tortures that only the Falmer could produce.

 _Mistress, you cannot save them,_ came the empathic voice of Kresh between my ears, the Shepherd having saved my life more times than I could count in these dark catacombs, _Their minds are lost!_

Grim resolve took me, blowing past the wonderful feeling of the potion coursing through my veins like the North Wind, ' _Then we will give them the peace of death, and pray Hircine, Mara and Arkay are merciful.'_

The first died to _Stormbringer_ , along with four Falmer around it, before they could reach our counter-charge.

Two through four ran afoul of Drevas or Scales as they, along with Farkas, clashed with our enemies. The world was _screaming_.

I holstered my bow and drew the _Fang_ as Farkas cleaved down three Falmer in a single swing, the remaining Falmer slaves dying to a razor-sharp ribbon of red as Ana and I leapt into the fray.

Still, the Falmer didn't give an inch, fighting us for every step. They weren't coming from behind us this time, a combination of my and Serana's spells destroying their ambush holes, but it didn't matter; the sheer press of bodies and blades in front of us was slowing our progress significantly. For every one we killed, five took their place; even Scales couldn't break a path through the deadly wall of pale flesh and chitin barring the way.

" _Drevas!_ " Serana shouted over the cacophony of battle, " _They'll bury us at this rate!_ "

A tearing streak of lava ripped through four before my mentor shouted, " _Hermione! Fire Breath! **FUS!** "_

Wha- _oh._ I brought the flames up while slashing through _another_ attempt to end me.

" ** _RO!_** " Farkas _howled_ in fury and bloodlust, his greatsword carving great swaths through the Falmer.

" ** _YOL!_** " Kresh tore the tendons out of every ankle for ten feet in front of me, making them easy prey for Serana's razor-whips and the red-white blur that was Scales

" ** _DAH!_** " " ** _TOOR!_** "

The titanic wave of force clove through the Falmer's lines like a stampeding mammoth, blasting into the area beyond, dragging the Falmer with it, both living and dead; right behind it, a swirling ball of dragonfire roasted those who were knocked down by Drevas' Shout before barreling into the wave that preceded it, right in the middle of the next chamber.

The result was… well, anyone who knows anything about Dragon Shouts knows that they're extremely powerful individually. But when you _combine_ the Shouts…

 ** _KAROO-_** _eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

 _Mistress!_ Ow! I've been deafened! Good thing I closed my eyes, because _holy shite,_ that was some explosion!

 _'I'm alright, Kresh! Did we get them all?'_ Hurry up and heal, hurry up and heal!

 _Nay! There are ogres within, and… Mistress, focus! They return!_

Ogres, of fucking course! Ignoring the incessant ringing, which was fading as the potion worked its magic, I rushed forward into the final chamber, Farkas and Scales flanking me.

Green, fell light from flickering torches shone in various areas around the room, illuminating worryingly humanoid forms tied to the walls, but that wasn't my primary focus. No, that was on the eight hulking, grey brutes charging at us with guttural war-cries and the countless Falmer running at me with death in their faces.

The lines appeared, along with the Song.

 _Starfall_ flew past us with a _woosh_ of displaced air and smashed into one of the ogre's faces, my mentor having _thrown_ the bloody thing! His war-cry mingled with mine to shake the walls around us as he ran in with two burning daggers, Scales charging forward with a roar that matched Farkas', the hulking Nord leaping into the fray fearlessly, and my Ana blurred along the left flank, tearing through the company before us.

My challenge to the Falmer? " _COME AND MEET HIRCINE'S WRATH!_ "

And Drevas' furious cry? " _HAVE AT THEE, YOU BLIGHTED N'WAHS! PRAISE BOETHIAH!"_

An unintelligible scream of corruption and hate was our answer as my friends and I clashed with them.

My world narrowed down to each enemy, ignoring the sounds around me, the constant battle and the Song my only focus.

 _Line, cut_ ; dodge the ogre, _slash_ , spin, _stab, stab, block-parry-slash-_

 _'I have to survive!'_

 _Three lines,_ too many, two steps back, _dodge,_ chain lightning, _cut-cut-stab-_

' _I have to get back home! This is why I'm fighting!'_

An axe smashes into my shoulder, _pommel in the face, slash,_ ogre towering over me, _dodge, " **YOL!** " pirouette, stab, _waxy faces, sharp teeth, all around me, _slash, block, dodge, roll with the hit, parry, **slash-slash-slash-**_

 ** _A pregnant woman's scream is cut off into a wet gasp as she falls, covered in bruises and filth, opened up from hip to collarbone by my last cut, the sword sliding from her limp fingers, blood and guts and_ something _sloughing from her gaping belly-_**

I roar in _hatred_ , tearing into my opponents with renewed fervor and righteous _fury_ , a building pressure behind my _eyes_ -

 **. . . . .**

 _The stern-looking woman with the warm smile concludes her speech, the two blurry forms in the room stiff with disbelief, "You are a witch, Miss Granger."_

 _I don't miss a beat, taking up the list I made right after I got that letter in the post, "Well, that's all well and good, Professor McGonagall, but I have a few questions for you…"_

 **. . . . .**

 _His eyes were wide, as was his warm smile; all the same, his stillness was creepy, unnerving, made me wish Professor McGonagall wasn't waiting outside with the other Muggleborn students._

 _"Hermione Granger," his voice was old, reedy, and somewhat pleasant… but… with an undertone of_ knowing _._

 _How did he know me? Wait, of course! This was the wand merchant, every new student needed wands, so, logically, he'd know who was coming for a wand; maybe he had a list? We were going in alphabetical order, after all!_

 _"Um, yes sir," I sketched a slight curtsey, as I'd seen others perform on the streets outside, "I'm here to purchase a wand, um, if you please."_

 _Mr. Olivander chuckled warmly, "If I may correct you, dear: you are here to_ find _your wand. The price you pay in gold, you will no doubt discover, is a paltry sum when compared to the worth of your partner in all things magical," and with that, he snapped his fingers and turned to the rows of boxes behind the counter._

 _Meanwhile, I tried to stay still and attentive while several strips of measuring tape wound about my body, taking in the length of my arms, legs, and… well, it all seemed rather excessive, honestly!_

 _Clearing my throat softly while Mr. Olivander returned carrying an armful of wooden boxes, I queried in curiosity, "Partner, Mr. Olivander?"_

 _"Yes, my dear. Without a wand, your magic will have no fine focus, and you'll find it quite difficult to use; likewise, without a hand to direct it, give it purpose, the magical potential of any wand cannot be realized. As you learn," he said kindly, snapping his fingers again, which made the tape measures zip back behind the counter, "so will you discover that a wand is not a stick to make pretty lights and turn beetles to buttons, but the baton that directs the orchestra to great movements."_

 _Well, that was rather grand! But I shouldn't get excited; odd things happened when I got too excited, and this shop had a lot of delicate-looking things in it! No need for a repeat of the 'Teakettle Incident'. The breakfast nook was never the same, afterward._

 _Still, the wordplay was better than any I'd received thus far in the magical alley, so I smiled and replied, "I've skimmed a few of the spell books we're to learn from, at Hogwarts, sir; forgive me, but they don't seem much like the works of Chopin or Mozart. Honestly," I nodded, assured by the knowledge I'd gained these last two weeks, "it all seems quite straightforward."_

 _His eyes twinkled with merriment, "A single note, briefly played, is not a symphony, Miss Granger. Perhaps you may write your own one day, with a mind as clever as yours. Or you may find yourself with the talent of the conductor rather than the composer, and, standing above the crowd, inspire. Perhaps you will become both, as Merlin and the Founders were, but only time will tell, and you'll need a wand to learn how, regardless." And he drew the first wand from a box, a white affair that glowed slightly in the dusty room, "Ash and griffon feather, ten inches, rigid."_

 _It didn't work for me; it just felt like wood in my small hands. Three other wands followed it into the 'no' pile; a glance outside showed the blurry faces of my future classmates. I hoped it wouldn't take much longer; there were so many more books to buy and, subsequently, explore!_

 _"Hmm… I wonder…" Mr. Olivander brushed aside some of the newer-looking boxes to reveal an older one, dust clinging tight to the wood grain, its parchment label faded to near-illegibility._

 _But when he drew the wand forth, I felt something in me twitch as that spiraling slender length of green and gold was presented to me, Mr. Olivander saying, "One of my earlier works, this: bluebell vine and dragon heartstring, twelve-and-three-quarter inches, nice and swishy."_

 _My slightly shaking fingers wrapped around the handle, lifting the wand, my wand, from Olivander's knobby fingers, a resonating thrum running from deep within my belly to warm my whole body. I blinked-_

-Golden, slitted eyes, white scales, staring at me from beyond time-

 _-and, with a sound like rushing wings, I waved my wand through the air, a stream of golden sparkles rushing from it like a fountain! A grin exploded across my face; my wand! I'd found my wand!_

 _Mr. Olivander laughed merrily, clapping his hands in joy, "Ah, yes! A fine match, indeed… hmm," his face took on a pensive expression as he mused aloud, "Dragon heartstring and vine, yes. You, Miss Granger, no doubt have the makings of a powerful witch."_

 _"Really?!" I was still grinning; that feeling had been wonderful, but it meant I'd be great at magic?!_

 _He nodded with a pleased hum, shuffling over to the register, "Believe it or not, I haven't even tried to match that wand for over fifty years," and Mr. Olivander chuckled while I listened attentively, wondering why, "No matter who took it in hand, it ignored them all. Vine and dragon heartstring, a powerful match, but, Miss Granger, power alone would not be enough to wield this wand."_

 _I blinked, wondering whatever he meant by that, "Then… what do I have, that makes it enough?"_

 _Garrick Olivander's eyes twinkled merrily as I hung on every word this wise, if somewhat creepy, gentleman spoke, "For the answer, Hermione Granger, I ask you a question, one which your clever mind will no doubt solve before long:_

 _"Were you to come across a dragon, would you tame it with steel, magic, or compassion? Now, enough philosophy; that will be 12 Galleons, if you please."_

 **. . . . .**

 _"Holy cricket! You're Harry Potter!"_

 _"Uh, yes, who are you?"_

 _"Oh! Um, Hermione; Hermione Granger. I've read about you!..."_

 **. . . . .**

 _"_ Fascinating."

' _You can talk-! Err, I-I mean…'_

 _"_ You have a fine mind, Miss Granger. Were it not for the bravery and cunning I see in your heart, I'd Sort you into Ravenclaw."

 _'I-I'd much prefer Gryffindor, um, Mr. Hat.'_

"Oh, I am well aware, Miss Granger; a pity, really. Were it not for the poison worming its way through Slytherin, you'd be Sorted there in a heartbeat. A clever, cunning mind like yours would do quite well in such a House, but I'm sure you'll be quite happy with-"

 _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

 **. . . . .**

 _-"Neville's got a Remembrall!"_

 _-"I can't remember what I've forgotten!"_

 _-"…a terror! No wonder she doesn't have any friends!"_

 _-"Hermione, RUN!_ HELLAS INCENDIO! _"_

 _-"_ Wingardium Leviosa!"

 _My wand, aimed at the floating club, the burning troll,_ "Depulso!"

 **. . . . .**

 _"You… Y-you saved me."_

 _"Well, of course we did… we couldn't just let it-oof!"_

 _Scoff, a murmur, "Already gettin' hugged by witches… oh!"_

 _"Thank you… thank you both!"_

 _"Err, n-no problem, Hermione."_

 _"Um, can you let us go, please?"_

 _Embarrassed laugher, wipe the tears away, "S-sorry!"_

 _"Eh, it's no trouble." Harry smiles. I blush._

 _"Yeah, just, I dunno… not so hard, next time…" Ron's bashful look says he doesn't mean it. I resolve to hug the stuffing out of them at every opportunity._

 _After all, they were my first friends ever!_

 **. . . . .**

 _The newborn dragon scampered about Hagrid's table. I watched it, fascinated, while Ron waxed poetic about the species' rarity._

 _It looks up at me._

 _Blink. What pretty eyes it has…_

 _Little Norbert lets out a screeching roar, raising…_ her! _How do I know it's a girl?! Well, it_ is _larger than the books said a male dragon should be at birth… Why is she raising her wings like that?_

 _Norberta, as I've renamed her mentally, flaps her wings and lunges at me!_

 _"EEK!"_

 _"Hermione!"_

 _"Blimey!"_

 _"Ah! No! Bad Norbert… huh. Would'ya lookit tha…"_

 _Clinging to the front of my robes while I'm desperately trying not to freak out, the little dragon starts… purring?!_

 _Harry laughs, "Looks like he likes you, 'Mione."_

 _"Figures," Ron drawls with a smirk, "she's got the temper of a dragon, so of course the boy dragon would be interest – whoa!"_

 _The tiny fireball misses Ron by inches, Harry staring wide-eyed at the little dragon glaring at the other three men in the room, Hagrid moving_ very slowly _toward me with an oven mitt._

 _While I have two things on my mind: one, dragons are illegal to own in Britain, so Hagrid might get in trouble._

 _And two: it's a pity, really. Little Norberta seems quite taken with me, if her lashing out with a tail and squeaky, adorable, protective snarl at Hagrid's questing hand is any indication._

 _Clearing my throat, I express my misgivings, a small kernel of a plan forming in my mind, "Hagrid, you_ do _know that dragon breeding is illegal, don't you?"_

 _The large groundskeeper looks like he's going to protest, or wave off my concerns, but Ron pulls him up, "Yeah, Hagrid. Sorry to say it, but I don't think you can afford the fine… or the fire hazard," he glances around the hut pointedly while Harry and I glare at him for his usual lack of tact._

 _"B-but ee's jus' a_ baby!"

 _Norberta makes her displeasure of Hagrid's statement known with another fireball, aimed at his great bushy beard; while he puts that out with water from the teapot and Harry moves slightly away from me, I lightly swat the newborn over her triangular head and chide, "No! Bad dragon! Don't burn people!"_

 _Her bright, silvery eyes look up at me, seeming to water, the poor little flying death lizard not understanding my displeasure. Also,_ d'awww!

'No, Hermione!' _I think, before I can get sucked in by the reptilian bundle of cute,_ 'Mom and Dad won't let you have a _cat_ , let alone a ruddy _dragon!'_

 _Sighing, I look to my two friends, "Ron, could you get in touch with your older brother before_ Norberta _here gets too large for me to hide?"_

 _Hagrid splutters, "B-b-but-"_

 _I raise a hand, before placing both on my hips, "_ Honestly _, Hagrid, your house is wood, and_ female _dragons are highly territorial, even when young! No," my bushy hair shakes with my head, I absentmindedly swat Norberta's curious talon away from her try at my tie, "either you take her to the Headmaster so he can put her up with her own kind – please don't touch that, dear – or I'll hold onto her until Ron's brother comes to pick her up." And I nod, because that's that!_

 _Harry, though, has a very good question, "Hermione… how do you know it's a girl?" Ron looks curious too, as does Hagrid._

 _I huff, smiling slightly, "Really, you three, only a girl dragon would be offended by someone repeatedly calling them male! Also, the size. See, male dragons are usually smaller…"_

 **. . . . .**

 _Tears fall down my cheeks as Charlie and his friends fly away into the night, the small steel box between them receiving another dent from within, accompanied by a furious screech. Harry rubs my shoulder in comfort and Ron shoves his hands in his pockets, both my friends frowning unhappily._

 _Three days we took care of her, hiding the little, adorable, angelic, highly dangerous death machine in various places throughout the castle, only for the dear to find her way unerringly back to my school bag every meal time, trying to steal chicken from my nightly salad and bacon from my breakfast plate! So many close calls, including a brief fire in History of Magic, brought the three of us nearly to wit's end, as well as uncomfortably close to expulsion!_

 _All the same, the nightly excursions to the kitchens under Harry's Cloak to feed her, playing fetch in an abandoned classroom, siccing her on Peeves, and trying not to laugh at Ron truthfully telling Professor Snape, with a completely straight face, that a dragon ate his essay (completely worth the ten points our House lost), meant that dear Norberta would always have a fond place in our hearts._

 _Then the tender moment of farewell was utterly ruined by Malfoy and Filch. Sod, blast and_ damnation.

 **. . . . .**

 _The forest, rising high over my head, should've been filling me with dread, like my two friends and the little weasel accompanying us._

 _But it didn't. The nighttime sounds of the Forbidden Forest weren't scary, and the idea that something out here was killing unicorns, while frightening, made me ever-so_ angry, _though I didn't know why…_

 _The forest wasn't_ that _scary. What the forest held, beneath its sheltering eaves… that was a different story…_

 **. . . . .**

 ** _The Stone. Quirrel. Harry's softly spoken confession on the train._ Voldemort.**

 **. . . . .**

 _I have the Potion book! That was easy. Stupid Lockhart with his stupid, forged books! Did he really think that no-one would check his story timelines against back-issues of the_ Prophet _and other international papers?! And to think I_ admired _the ruddy peacock! Arse-biscuit, as Ron called him! At least he's gullible, though, which helped us with our mission to find the Heir. The sooner, the better! Poor Colin…_

 _Another book draws my eye, though, as I make my way out of the Restricted Section, the title arresting my attention briefly…_

Nine Diamonds, Sixteen Rubies

 _Blinking and shaking my head at the odd title, I make my way out of the Library with a spring in my step, already formulating a timeline for the Polyjuice and forgetting the strange, old-looking book._

 **. . . . .**

 _Heart thudding like a drum in my chest, I angle the mirror around the corner, the Ravenclaw Prefect beside me shaking in fear-_

 **BIG**

 **YELLOW**

 **EYES**

 **. . . . .**

 _The lights flicker in the compartment, an odd enough occurrence that I stop pretending at reviewing my Runes textbook as a cover for admiring Harry's nicely tanned skin and broadening shoulders; the train was slowing down…_

 _Ron looks up from the chess game, which is taking longer than usual, and looks out the window, "Wonder what's up?"_

 _With a shudder, the train halts. The lights go out, plunging us into near-darkness. Hedwig shrieks indignantly._

 _"Ow! Ron, my foot!"_

 _"That was me, 'Mione, sorry." Harry's wand lights up, followed by ours. The man in our compartment shifts in his sleep._

 _A loud, wailing chorus of screams suddenly starts echoing up and down the train, my breath coming out in a burst of mist-_

-the troll's roar of anger, beady black eyes staring hungrily down at me-

 _-Ron whimpers, shaking and looking about fearfully as the window freezes in the sudden all-consuming cold. Scabbers shrieks and hides in one of his pockets, Crookshanks yowls and buries himself beneath my bag, and Hedwig lets out an unearthly_ growl.

 _Worried at the course of events, I look at Harry. He's pale as a ghost, stock-still and staring with dread at the door to the compartment._

 _"H-Harry?" my voice is high and fearful-_

-the sound of scales sliding against the cobblestones, the grey monotony of Petrification, the screaming of the Basilisk echoing through the school, the shaking of its death-throes, the diary's scream-

 _-and the door opens with a rattle._

...tattered black, sucking away all light…

 _And I see…_

…a bony hand reaching for us, for _me_ …

 _I see…_

…colder than the grave…

 _I…._

…no hope, it's all gone away…

…Dementor…

 **H**

 **A**

 **I**

 **L**

 **FEEDUSSOWEMAYPLEASEOURFATHER**

 **S**

 **I**

 **T**

 **H**

 **I**

 **S**

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

 **. . . . .**

 _"MOVE AND I'LL BLOW HER FUCKING HEAD OFF!"_

 **. . . . .**

 _Nine stars, shining though the endless_ light…

 _My spell strikes Pettigrew's back, sealing his fate. I killed him, but I don't care. I need to escape!_

 **. . . . .**

 _"…the third such reviled spell is the Killing Curse, for to slay with your magick is…"_

Avada Kedavra.

 _"…and… then there's this… flash of green. And then it's quiet… but someone's still screaming….and…" My heart breaks to see Harry's haunted, furious eyes, "…and I think it's_ me, _c-crying for my mom."_

 **. . . . .**

Harry James Potter, my best friend, my love, the Boy-Who-Lived

Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, _Tom Marvolo Riddle_

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

I am Hermione Jean Granger

Gryffindor

 **I am Hermione the Griffoness**

 **Dragonborn**

 **. . . . .**

Blood sprays from my nose, the pressure all leaving at once; a funeral bell tolls in my mind, the sound of a slamming door echoing through my senses, a full body shock-

-the _White Fang_ kills the Falmer that just electrocuted me, Kresh moving my unresisting arm, _MISTRESS! You must focus! I cannot protect us both!_

With what feels like a great effort, I take my stance again, flicking the strings of the _Fang_ , searching for new threats…

But the Falmer are running. _'No. They don't get to leave,'_ I think with bitter **hatred** , sending another Lightning Helix into their backs, remembering Blackreach in full for the first time since I woke up in that stone bed.

In the middle distance, between two waterfalls, a Falmer in more elaborate armor than the others, a shining white shield in one hand, its body bristling with weaponry, waving a sword and screeching, directing the others.

It must be the Warmonger Drevas mentioned…

Drevas…

 _"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead – Outside that door, expect no mercy – Be without fear in the face of your enemies – not that our feelings matter, in the eyes of the Gods."_

No… I have to _focus_. Warmonger, Warmonger, what do the books say about you, Falmer Warmonger?

 _A Falmer Warmonger is amongst the most dangerous and intelligent opponents any adventurer may face; some use magic, others do not, but that is not where their danger takes form. Rather, they are capable of directing large hordes of this horrid race with great precision, to such a degree that, if one is located, a Legion Tactician must be called in to organize a purge…_

The rest is irrelevant. My feelings toward them are _personal._

They took my memories. They polluted this holy place. They raped and impregnated women to boost their numbers. They are _in my way_.

I kill another that tried to attack from my blind spot without looking, drawing my wand in the same motion.

The Warmonger points his sword at us and screeches; arrows fly haphazardly at us. Annoyances, nothing more; I weather the pointy rain. I have seen _worse_. I have _faced worse._

I am Hermione Jean Granger. I helped kill a troll when I was twelve. I've seen the eyes of the Basilisk and lived, aided in its destruction while Petrified. I am one of the three youngest Patronus users in _history_.

…and I am Hermione the Griffoness, of Whiterun, Most Favored of Hircine, Knight-Aspirant of the Skywatch, student of the Dragonborn, beloved of Serana Volkihar, and friend to the Companions.

 _I have nothing left to fear._

Standing in blood, afterbirth, shit, piss and _so much worse_ , in another world, the gargling cries of wounded and dying enemies filling my ears…

 _…the gurgling cry of a babe reaches my ears, rattling away into death a second later…_

…I can't think of a reason to hold back anymore.

 _…for, to use this, the third reviled curse, you must hate your target with all your being…_

 _Hardly_ an issue; my wand rises.

 _"Do you ever think about what we'll do, after we graduate?"_

 _I huff, "Well, jobs for one… oh, Harry, don't make such a face! Of course I'll still be with you."_

 _"Really, 'Mione?" his smile warms me._

 _I kiss him, "Really. Now, homework."_

I aim my wand at the Warmonger, who turns a snarl of hate on me.

A fearful voice rings in my head, _…M-mistress?_

But I ignore the voice and the glare, for _my hate is greater_ , my fear _nothing_ in the face of all that they've taken from me; my memories, my innocence, my peace of mind, my _choice_ in life, all taken away, one by one, by this mad, bloody world.

I couldn't remember my parent's faces, the shape of their eyes, the way they sounded and smelled, the feeling of their arms around me.

Gone, gone forever, and the _cause was before me_.

 _'Give them back. Give them back!_ I HATE YOU!'

 _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The fell, emerald light filled my vision…

 _My magic roils with awful **pain** , Kresh howls in horror._

…and I understood, on a deep and personal level, as the Curse lanced at the Warmonger…

 _A grieving sound, vibrating from my wand, 'What have I done?!'_

…why that spell is _Unforgivable_.

 **. . . . .**

Swatting yet _another_ arrow aside, Drevas' red-tinted vision fixed on his target, _the Warmonger_ , and grabbed at the Aubris for _lightning_. It couldn't be allowed to live, not for another bloody _second!_ He took careful aim-

 _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

-and the old Dunmer felt something he'd not sensed since…

 _Black sand, swirling all around them, dragging Minka from the battleground as she screams in terror-_

 _The tendril whips down as Dagoth Ur screams in **fury** and **hate** -_

 _Black magic ripples from the fell tentacle, filling all with primal fear and mortal dread-_

 _Glimmer-Void dodges it nimbly, the magic tearing into the sands with the scream of **death** , and the _Spear _takes a leg in recompense-_

Green light flared from Hermione's wand, streaking toward the Warmonger with the cold promise of the _Void,_ Drevas looking on in horror, _'Kill spell… no, Hermione, you idiot_ girl!'

The fiend she's aimed at raises the white kite shield to block the spell-

 **GONNNNNNNNNGGGGG!**

-and the green light splatters against the gleaming obstruction, the artifact taking on a golden glow, vibrating with a sound that rattled Drevas' armor and bones in equal measure. The Warmonger doesn't fall…

It _grins_ over the rim of its aegis, tensing to bash the shield against the air.

Dread fills him, making Drevas feel like he was before the horror in the wastes once again, like he was running desperately towards the column of smoke in Hammerfell again, _'NO!'_

Starfall _slips from his grasp, shaking the cavern as it hits the ground. He darts forward, a million years to reach his apprentice-_

 _The Falmer slams the shield forward with a victorious cry, a wave of black light blasting the waterfalls aside, ripping up the soil as it barrels at his unmoving apprentice-_

 _Drevas is in front of a stock-still Hermione, raising his hands against the finality bearing down on them-_

 _His magic leapt to his fingers with a thought and a prayer,_ 'Father Stendarr, show forth your glory! Give me the strength to protect us!'

A wall of glimmering silver light leapt effortlessly from Drevas' hands as the wave reached them-

 _-black-_

-and he's awake again, two seconds later. Still standing, but feeling like he'd just been run over by a bloody _Ogrim_ ; hands numb from taking such a baleful hit but otherwise fine to keep going, Drevas' red eyes searched for the Warmonger, pyroclastic flame crackling in both hands…

Gone. Buggered off. The little _fetcher_ scampered!

With a frustrated growl, Drevas whirled on his foolish apprentice, a biting lecture on proper use of magic on the tip of his tongue…

Only to have all thoughts scoured away by the look of self-hatred and _grief_ on Hermione's face; tears streamed down her face, lips quivering beneath her scarf, the _White Fang_ slipping from her hand to fall in the polluted morass at her feet.

 _'Hells and heavens, why did she use a fucking_ kill spell? _She should know those can pollute your magic,'_ he thought, emotions warring violently in his mind; stooping, he picked up the _Fang_ as a blood-soaked Scales came over with a fearful whine, nudging his crying apprentice's wand hand, getting no response. Before she could break down further, Drevas plucked the wood length from her hand and stowed it in the wand case on her belt.

Then he gripped her by the breastplate and tried to meet her eyes, "Hermione?!" she didn't reply beyond hanging her head and letting out a defeated sob. _'Julianos and Boethiah, grant me wisdom and strength,'_ to a warily approaching Farkas he said, "Pick her up, _gently._ "

"Hermione? Love, what's wrong?" Serana, approaching swiftly as Farkas took the young woman into his arms in a bridal carry, the vampire's face taut with care and worry; _still_ his apprentice didn't respond beyond another bitter sob. Glancing down, he saw Kresh spiraling beneath Hermione, letting out quiet, pitiful whines.

"Serana, leave behind a Hunger to clean up," Drevas ordered as he collected his mace and made briskly for the stone bridge between the waterfalls, using Aura Whisper as he went; no contacts… good. He didn't need another fight. Not now.

Their vampire companion didn't seem to understand; given her feelings for the young woman in Farkas' arms, Drevas couldn't blame her, but this wasn't the time or place for such a discussion, "Drevas, what's wrong with her? Hermione, _please-"_

" _Serana!_ " concerned glowing red coals met steadfast pools of blood, "She used a kill spell steeped in black magic," horrified understanding exploded across her face, but Drevas wasn't done, "I can cleanse the taint away, but _not here_ ," he pointed at the gore-filled chamber with _Starfall_ , trying to keep his gorge down at seeing _another_ breeding hive; he'd hoped and prayed to never see another again after the horror beneath Elsweyr, but such was life, _curse the Gods,_ "Not… not in this place, Serana."

Turning, he stormed in the direction the Falmer disappeared to. Glancing about on the other side of the narrow bridge, Drevas noticed… nothing. The little _n'wahs_ were gone.

Something was _very_ wrong about that. Thousands of Falmer, but they were _holding back?_ One of their number was all but catatonic with shock, Serana wouldn't be able to focus with Hermione out of commission, which left them with three (four, counting Kresh) stopgaps against the horde.

Drevas knew he was good, as was Farkas, and it would take more than a few hundred Falmer to put Scales down for good…

But bodies built up on a battlefield; eventually, they'd be buried in the buggers, and then it'd be a slit throat for Drevas of Mournhold. And that wouldn't do; he planned to die warm in his bed between one breath and the next, far from this filthy place, surrounded by loved ones; failing that, in battle with Alduin, each slaying the other, with someone there to bear witness and tell the story of his end so the Bards could make a good song of it.

Oh, and bring the Toolbox to Lydia once he croaked. But not here. Not today. Not Hermione, Farkas, Serana, Kresh or Scales.

 _"Make sure they all get home, lad."_

Ever and anon, whoever stood by him, he _would._ Elenwen's foolishness be damned.

He whispered the Words of Power again, moving into another winding tunnel; still noth – was that a _sabre cat?!_

Well… that wasn't _nothing_ ; it was life that wasn't Falmer, which meant other life that wasn't tainted by the little buggers.

It was _something_ , which was infinitely better than the horrific charnel house they were leaving behind. Drevas stomped further into the dark, thanking whatever God had given them this break even as he cursed them for their lateness, his companions and fraught apprentice following.

 **. . . . .  
Very early morning, 21st Second Seed, 4E201  
Darkfall Glade, Chantry of Auri-El  
. . . . .**

An hour and some strange-colored sabre cats later saw the party making camp on a grassy knoll in a chamber that uncomfortably reminded Drevas of Blackreach… and he wasn't the only one, _unfortunately_.

Serana's arms were wrapped about a terrified and hyperventilating Hermione, rocking and shushing her kindly, "You're not there, my 'Mione. You're not in Blackreach, _you're not_ , love."

The young woman's only response was another meek, wretched sob.

Lips pursed in concentration, Drevas laid the Toolbox carefully amongst some small flowers and blue-lit grass; he'd collect some of the flowers, after, see if they held any Alchemical properties.

Of course, he could eat one, but without knowing what they did, and with what he was about to do, Drevas couldn't risk it. Opening the Toolbox, he removed a silver pitcher and sniffed it; clean, good, that'd save him some time.

"Farkas," the Companion looked up from the fire he'd just started, worried eyes trying not to look at the poor young lass he'd protected and taught for nearly a month, "Take this pitcher over to that waterfall and fill it, please."

When Farkas came close enough to speak quietly, he asked, "It'll help?" Drevas nodded surely. Nodding back, Farkas loped off while the old Dunmer removed a silver bowl edged with nine rubies.

 _'Seventy years since I used this ritual for any purpose, one-twenty since it was used on_ me,' he thought solemnly, hearing a newborn's cry in his mind, a soft giggle, warm purring; smiling at the bittersweet memories, Drevas took a velvet rag and wiped the dust from the bowl.

As Farkas returned with the water, "Serana, get her out of her armor." Drevas looked over at his apprentice, who was staring at him with mind-shattering **fear** ; he assuaged her with a warm smile, "Don't worry, lass. You'll feel better once this is over."

He took the water from Farkas with thanks, pouring it carefully into the bowl, not spilling a drop. Next, Drevas took out a clean linen towel and a wide jewelry box with nine white stars painted on the lid.

Then he waited, kneeling in the soil; bowl, box and towel. The clinking of Hermione's armor being removed, piece by piece, mingled with her sporadic sobs. Scales huffed the air, crowned head ever searching for threats. Farkas glanced around, but kept near, in case he was needed. Good lad.

Drevas meditated, calming his magic and mind. Once both were calmed and placid, he _prayed_.

 _Lady Kynareth, let flow your breath, hallow this water, make it pure._

A warm wind caressed the islet, making the waters ripple and grasses hiss-

-and Hermione _screamed,_ and tried to bolt away, like a deer that suddenly came face to face with a Hunter.

" _Hermione!"_ Serana tackled the partly armored girl to the dirt, Kresh's shadow clamping his teeth on the girl's ankle, "Hermione, please stop! Drevas is only trying to help!"

His apprentice shrieked horribly, eyes lost in distant terror, _"Please no! NO! I can't! I can't be helped!"_

"Tosh." Drevas' voice felt alien, even to his own ears, with a surety and deepness that he'd not heard since… he shook his head; now was not the time for remembrance, not of _then_ , "All can be helped. Have faith."

" _You don't understand!"_ his buck-toothed apprentice started breaking down in sobs again, even as her beloved knelt on her back and worked on unclasping her greaves, " _It's unforgivable! I'm… I'm **unclean!** It won't just wash away-y-y!" _and she dissolved into self-loathing despair, weeping as her remaining armor continued to be removed by Serana's shaking hands, the vampire's eyes wet with empathic tears.

He ignored them. She may have spoken with a Daedra, but of the Aedra, she only had Sister Danica and Lucia to give her guidance, along with what books on the Nine he'd managed to save over the years. Drevas rarely spoke of them, mainly due to his… _other_ devotions. But no tome, in these grey and distant days, spoke of the God's true power, what could be done with ritual and _belief_.

No, such things were only recorded in the few writings of cultists… and the book the Nerevarine willed him, _Nine Diamonds, Sixteen Rubies_ , and that was hidden in the same box he'd found it in, in a special compartment in the Toolbox, the key to its box carefully hidden. All else was either suppressed or destroyed over the millennia by the Elder Council and the Imperial Cult, or watered down for the masses and preached by hypocrites who asked farmers for Septims every Sundas.

Belief. The crux of all things. Without it, Tamriel would've been lost to chaos and destruction long ago.

The medallions came next; one by one, draped over the lip of the bowl, each with their own prayer:

 _Arkay, bring your peace, that she may calm._

 _Zenithar, bring your bounty, that she may flourish._

 _Julianos, bring your wisdom, that she may understand._

 _Dibella, bring your light, that she may see._

 _Mara, bring your love, that she may remember._

 _Stendarr, bring your mercy, that she may heal._

 _Talos, bring your strength, that she may persevere._

 _Kynareth, bring your glory, that she may soar._

 _Akatosh, bring your flame, that she may be purified._

Last came the linen towel, folded square and gently submerged in the cool liquid, which had taken on a subtle, but not unpleasant, shine.

There. Drevas looked up from his work to look at Hermione; she was curled on the ground, clad only in her leather pants and silk shirt, still weeping, still afraid. Were it not for Kresh still holding her in place and Serana stroking her face caringly, she'd likely have tried to bolt again.

Drevas sighed; he understood the lass' pain. He'd been there before, the one crying like a baby on the ground, feeling wretched and _dirty_.

 _"Calm, Drrrevas, my darrrling. We arre herrre."_

 _"We're away, Dre; you're not there anymore. Don't worry. We have you now."_

Blinking away the memory, he removed the cloth towel reverently, wrung it out, and passed it to Serana, "Clean her armor with that," as the Daughter of Coldharbour didn't burst into flames or collapse into a screaming heap on touching it, Drevas figured the Nine would suffer the vampire this, at least.

Or was it that they were in a holy place? The old Dunmer supposed it didn't matter, so long as it worked.

To Farkas he said, "Remove your armor," even as he did the same, moving quickly; there were too many mysteries here, regarding that _awful_ spell, and Hermione held the answer. But first, she needed to be cleansed of the taint, and the longer it was bound to her soul, the harder it would be to remove.

He knew better than most what the result could be, if it was left unattended.

 _Laughing, cold, green eyes bored into him, blood splattered across golden skin, "Surrender, Dre. It's over."_

Once they were both stripped to their underclothes (canvas trousers for Drevas, leather for Farkas), the Dragonborn bid the Werewolf, "Bring her," and stepped into the water surrounding them.

All the while, Hermione moaned, " _No, no, please no,_ " and other variations against any sort of help in her plight; Farkas seemed to hesitate as he walked into the water and Hermione began struggling against his great arms, pushing against the young man's muscled chest, but a look from Drevas had him moving again, until he was waist-deep in the water.

Drevas removed the medallions, collected the bowl, and walked up to Hermione, who looked at him with a bitter, loathsome gaze; she was pale with fear and the corruption trying to bind her soul, the whites of her eyes held a yellow tint, and she'd worried her lip raw. The strong young woman he'd known and taught, who'd faced down whatever threat that dared cross her path, looked more like a pathetic animal as she tried to scratch and punch Farkas away. She even kicked out clumsily at Drevas, trying to spill the bowl.

 _'Can't have that…'_

So Drevas hit her with a mild Paralyze spell, stilling her movements, "You'll thank me in a moment, lass." Then he held her face in a hand and completed the ritual, " _O Nine Divines, bless this child in your light, and wash away the darkness of her life, that she may greet the new day with open eyes and a full heart,_ " and poured the water gently over her forehead, emptying the bowl in a steady stream; as he did, the color in her skin returned, the yellow tint in her eyes leaving rapidly.

 _'Bloody Gods, if I ever find out who taught her such a spell, I will_ kill them. _Slowly. With a butter knife.'_

Hermione regained movement with a shudder-

-and socked Drevas in the gut, " _Oof!_ "

"You _Paralyzed_ me, you arse!" wiggling, she all but knocked Farkas on his ass and fell gracelessly into the pool; she rose with a wild splash and gave Drevas a glare that would've been more intimidating if she didn't look so much like a drowned rat, "Gah, what is _wrong_ with you?!"

Drevas grinned, relieved both that the ritual worked and that Hermione seemed more herself again, "Welcome back, lass."

 **. . . . .**

I shuddered, staring at the grinning Dark Elf; the feeling of pure **despair** , of _filthiness_ , was… _gone._

But I could _feel_ where it'd tainted me, like a fresh, painful scar on my soul and magic; weakly, I whimpered, "It… it still _hurts._ "

He gave me a look of understanding, "I know. It'll go away, in time. Also," his brows slammed together, and the warm feeling fled in the face of cold _fear_ , "don't ever use that spell again."

And he walked briskly past me. A towel hit the back of my head a second later.

Oh, **hell no**.

I whirled on him-

-and I saw Serana, _my Ana_ , someone who I _trusted_ , _loved_ just as much as _Harry_ , the one I'd given my _virginity_ to, looking at me in great concern and relief, crouched over my armor and weapons…

The sight made me forget the horror of using the third Unforgivable, the soul-staining Killing Curse.

 _My_ armor. _My_ weapons.

I am a killer.

"'Mione?" _Farkas._

 _"Are you sure you want this life?"_

I felt my gorge rise, but I bit it back, _'I watched a burning troll sink to the ground with a club buried in its chest, had a dragon see me as its mother, listened helplessly as the Basilisk died, and looked a Dementor in the face,'_ a shuddering exhalation of air later, I squared my shoulders and walked with as much dignity as I could muster onto the islet.

Serana was frowning at me now; I ignored it, staring at a greenish-brown deer on a cliff nearby while toweling myself off. Its eyes were blue, pale horns spiraling from the back of its head. Beautiful. From what I understood of this world so far, as well as my position as Most Favored, Hircine would probably want one in the Hunting Grounds, and would be doubly pleased with me for sending one there.

 _'I am the equivalent of a High Priestess in a_ demonic cult _, have slain a dragon and dedicated the kill to said demon, and… and I have killed_ dozens _of people. I killed a_ child. _I killed a_ pregnant woman _.'_

"Are we monsters, Drevas?"

He paused in the buckling of his boots, but not for long, "No, and I'll thank you not to think like that. I've seen real monsters, Hermione, and real monsters would've _reveled_ at the grim sights we've seen, rather than put paid to the crimes of the Falmer. If we were monsters, we'd have raised those dead and sent them ahead of us to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. No, Hermione," he sighed sadly, "those men and women came against us because they _wanted_ to die, even if the thought wasn't in their heads at the time." The person who ensured I'd survive this awful world raised his head and fixed me with a sober look, but I was busy looking at a weird purple flower behind Serana, "Or would you have thought something different, were you in their place?"

I didn't answer, at first; instead, I slowly turned my head and looked him in the eyes, brown meeting red for a very. Long. Time.

I _hated_ him, hated what he'd made me into, and hated how uncaring he was in the face of death…

But I understood. Without preparation, I'd have died… or worse. That didn't make me feel much better about the whole situation.

And, as much as I hated Drevas of Mournhold for turning me into a child soldier, for ensuring I'd be _comfortable_ with taking a life, I hated Peter Pettigrew infinitely more for making it _necessary_. I hated the bandits I'd faced, hated what they'd done to people. I hated the Falmer for taking my memories and the horrors they inflicted, the Forsworn for their perpetuation of the cycle of violence that defines this world, and Ulfric Stormcloak for fanning the flames of war, for giving Lucia nightmares about the man razing Whiterun with the Voice.

Harry would've wept and raged at the sights I've seen, and Ron…

…once he got over the cart-sized spiders, Ron would've stood at our side as we… what?

What could three Third Year students do against… all this?

 _Endure. Survive. Thrive._

Ironic, that I hated much of what I'd found here, yet was comforted by the words of Ysgramor gave to the Army of Atmora before their decisive battle with the Snow Elves.

For three years, that's what we'd done, Harry, Ron and I. Endure Malfoy's idiocy, survive the horrors that seemed determined to crush us, and, in enduring and surviving, _we thrived_.

Small wonder I'd done so well, was still alive, after all the grim business being an adventurer, a _Knight_ , entailed.

So I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath through my nose, "Drevas?"

"Hmm?"

"You're an incorrigible, complete _arse_ , you know?" Farkas snorted and murmured something that sounded like, ' _Obviously_.'

Drevas chuckled dryly, "Aye, lass, my wife used to remind me of the fact each day, while she lived," he reached for the silver bowl, no doubt to put it away, but I held out a hand to stop him.

"Do you know a ritual that… purifies enchanted items?" I truly hoped he did because… my poor wand…

He nodded, eyebrow raised, "You wand, I presume?" Bloody – can he read minds, too?!

Pursing my lips in irritation, I nodded curtly and walked over my gear, laid out near Serana; after picking up my wand case and tossing it over to Drevas, I whispered in response to my girlfriend's searching gaze, "We'll talk later," and picked up the _White Fang_. It was covered in drying blood. A dip in the water surrounding us cleaned it of the grime.

 _'It really is quite the weapon,'_ I mused, turning it over and over in my hands; ebony, from what I understood, was a kind of metallic ore, but the white of the _Fang_ … it didn't _feel_ like moonstone, the most common white material used in crafting, _'Kresh? What is the handle made of?'_

 _Azura crafted the handle, mistress, while father made the blade… If I remember correctly, it is the bone of some great beast, though its name has been lost. I was born long after the_ Fang _was created, you see, but father might know…_ he paused, then continued in a concerned tone, _Are you feeling well now, mistress?_

No, I most certainly wasn't feeling well at all. Those poor people we slaughtered… but given the alternative… no, it didn't make me feel better; there was justice, there was mercy, and then there was necessity. What we'd done was the third, and it was cold comfort, even knowing they'd suffer no more.

Then there was my ruddy _hair_ ; it was a thicket, sure, but it'd took me _years_ to grow it out, and I was proud of my hair. Now it was gone, another point against the _Falmer_ , and I couldn't get it back… and there was an idea. A mad idea, positively _insane_ , honestly, but it was better than being nearly _bald_ and looking like a boy all the time…

…and my Ana might appreciate having something to run her fingers through… bugger it, I'll try.

 _'I will feel better soon, Kresh.'_ I stabbed the _Fang_ into the ground and removed my dirty shirt, checking my bindings; nice and clean, as usual, but _wow_ , I've bulked up a fair bit! Odd that I'd not noticed my progress, but I was already in great shape when I arrived in Blackreach, and there were more important things going on. Still not bodybuilder muscly, but _holy cricket_ , I could probably wrestle Crabbe and Goyle, at the same time, and win! I looked _good_ , too; not all pretty and voluptuous like Lavender, but at least I wasn't an awkward stick anymore! _'I have two things to ask you, though.'_

 _I will answer to the best of my abilities, mistress!_

I chuckled to myself, humored by eagerness; collecting the _Fang,_ I then sat on a boulder, facing the campfire and ignoring the glances of my companions, staring at the weapon in my hands and Kresh's shadow at my feet, _'Have you ever seen animals like that deer, or that sabre cat, in the Hunting Grounds?'_

 _Nay, mistress; none of father's faithful have come this way, I would wager_ , his tail wagged happily, _No doubt he would be pleased if we were to send him some, mistress!_

Smiling down at him, hoping my plan would work, I then made a request, _'Kresh, stop calling me mistress.'_

His head tilted in confusion, which I felt in the back of my mind, _Is… there some other title I should call you?_

I felt a wave of fondness at his hesitant tone; demonic creature though he _may_ be, we'd slain a dragon and fought through a small _army_ together, and he'd been ever so helpful… minus that first night, but that was ancient history, now, and having my first time by a waterfall was just… _perfect._ I was glad we waited.

 _'Call me Hermione, Kresh. You've earned that much, for keeping me alive, and helping me on my path,'_ grinning at his bashful and stuttering acquiescence, I looked to Farkas, who'd finished cleaning his armor and was now checking his greatsword for nicks.

He reminded me of Ron. Steadfast, loyal, brave, honest… and deathly afraid of spiders.

Rising from my seat, I looked at my bare feet… bugger it; the less armor, the more likely this would succeed. Fair playing field and all that, "Farkas."

"Hrmph?" came the attentive grunt of the young Werewolf; blimey, what would Professor Lupin think, me working with a warrior Werewolf?

I shook my head; now wasn't the time for woolgathering or worrying about what everyone in my world would think. They weren't _here_ , they weren't _me_. "I'm going hunting. Come with me."

He didn't respond at first, fixing me with a piercing stare for a few seconds, getting my measure, before giving a gruff reply, "Okay." He got up, sheathing his sword and recovering his pack.

Serana was still worried, though, "Are you sure you're feeling okay, 'Mione?"

My heart fluttered in affection, _'No wonder I love her. She reminds me of Harry, so compassionate.'_ I gave her a watery smile in response, but kept my head held high, "No, my Ana, I feel wretched. But I'll be okay after a brief hunt, to calm my nerves, love. I need to do this, and then I'll be back in your arms, don't worry." It didn't look like my words helped much, given her steady frown, but, hopefully, I'd be able to get my head on straight again soon. I didn't want Serana to suffer so because of me.

Then I looked at Drevas, my smile falling away; he was looking at my wand, submerged in the bowl, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, "Problem, Master?" the second word felt almost _alien_ on my tongue, now, with my restored memories, but I ignored that sensation too, not wanting to worry the others needlessly…

The old Dunmer shook his head, "No, no, it's working just fine. I just need to keep a close eye on the process, is all; oh, if you manage to bring down a deer, I'd appreciate it if you'd bring me the antlers. Potions ingredients and all that."

I hummed in understanding, then, "Drevas?" he looked at me askance, "My amnesia's gone."

Then I turned and made for the stone bridge leading further into the dark, back straight and eyes flicking side to side, searching for a fine specimen to send to Hircine, Farkas loping quietly behind me and Kresh reveling at my feet, overjoyed that my mind was whole again.

 **. . . . .**

Serana watched her love walk away without a second glance or explanation, Farkas following her like a loyal dog, straight-backed and sure of step, a legendary weapon held in one hand.

The statement, that her beloved's memories had returned, hadn't assuaged the worries raging through her unlife regarding the young warrior-witch, Serana's 'Mione; it was in her _eyes_ , a deep pain, a scar that wouldn't heal after a single hunt or a visit to the Temple.

It reminded Serana of her own eyes, after… _Coldharbour._

"Stop that," she turned her gaze to Drevas, Hermione and Farkas having vanished into the gloom; he wasn't looking at her, wiping water from Hermione's wand. "You've seen her fight, you've fought at her side. You've shared your bed with her, loved her. So stop worrying, woman. She's stronger than you think, and loves you still."

"I can't help but worry, Drevas," returning her eyes to her beloved's armor and remaining gear, now cleaned of muck to their former shine, if covered in scratches and dents from the running battle, Serana felt like weeping, "She… I care for her, _so much_ … and, damn my mind, if she remembers her life-"

"She loves you still," repeated Drevas, rough voice filled with surety.

But Serana wasn't wholly convinced, especially considering the source, "You say this, Drevas, but… well, you don't seem very _loving_ , so forgive me if you're not all that convincing. No offense," she added when he turned an unamused look on her.

He held that stare, then…

"You remind me of my daughter."

The six words struck her with surprise, "Your…"

He went on into that pause, still holding her gaze, "She worried overmuch about how her beloved felt for her, as well. Considering the lad was rarely at home, what with his duties as a castle guardsman, I wasn't _too_ surprised, nor was her mother, but worry herself she did, nearly to the point where she'd have stopped taking care of herself, were it not for my intervention.

"I asked her, when she was five months pregnant, what my son-in-law did when he came home to make her feel such a way. Do you know what she told me?" Serana shook her head, wondering where he was going with this, "She told me he'd kiss her, hold her for a time, and fix their dinner. They'd lie in bed, and he'd tell her of his day, and she'd tell of hers, and they'd fall to sleep in each other's arms. Every day, the same thing. Sometimes, he'd have to stay at the castle later than usual, but he'd still come home by sunset. And still she worried about how he felt about her, because they argued at times, and at times he was distant, lost in thought.

"I told her that was a normal thing, in marriage, that she knew her mother and I fought at times, that I'd woolgather at length at times; these things are normal. Still she worried. I found that she worried he might not really love her, that he'd only married her for the baby and the benefits of status that came with her being the daughter of a Knight of Hammerfell. I told her that I was certain that wasn't the case, and she, just like you just did, asked me how I knew.

"And I told her, truthfully, that the way the lad acted was the same thing _I_ did, every day, for her mother; I went out, did what my station demanded, and came home. But the house, the Knighthood, the trinkets and baubles I'd gathered, the people who tried to become closer to me to raise themselves up… none of it mattered, because her mother was everything I ever wanted or needed. Additionally, there's no way in all the hells I'd allow my own flesh and blood to marry some rake, but that's beside the point. The point of this story, Serana, is that though Hermione will sometimes need her space to do her own thing, and you won't always be able to walk alongside her on her path through life, she loves you dearly, and will come back to your arms again and again, her love for Harry Potter be _damned_.

"Hermione may be hurting right now, but she still _loves you_ , Serana. Don't doubt that, and be there for her when she returns." With that, Drevas turned to his Toolbox, removing foodstuffs and cooking implements, leaving Serana to think on his words.

Serana thought on that for a time, while arranging Hermione's armor and preparing their party's sleeping arrangements, and found Drevas had a point; Hermione had long known of the relationship waiting for her, of the boy that loved her dearly and missed her terribly, but even then, Hermione _loved her_ , without hesitation, as though the barrier of worlds and experiences that stood between them didn't exist.

It maddened her, how… _illogical_ it all was, the way they were going about this! Hermione fought through the Falmer, waded through blood and _worse_ , all to help Serana save the world for her insane _father_ , and here she was, doubting the young woman's feelings!

But Serana knew, deep in her black soul, that she loved the young witch, would happily follow her anywhere, even beyond the realms and back to Hermione's Mundus; what did that say about her, that she only doubted _now_ , when hardship presented itself? It wasn't fair to Hermione, her beloved.

Sighing, she said quietly, "I'll have to apologize for my lack of understanding, once she returns."

"Bah, just kiss the lass, woman," waved Drevas dismissively, focused on making several of those spiced Khajiiti wraps Hermione was so fond of, "Better yet, just be there for her. No doubt having her memories return scared her more than the fight we just went through…" then he looked at her with a confused expression, "Another question: she doesn't usually hunt to distract herself, she usually-"

"Buries herself in a book, or keeps trying to figure out why her spells don't work wandlessly?" smiling, Serana adjusted her bedroll so it was a little closer to Hermione's… and pulled out some toiletries, along with a jar of beeswax; the water felt warmer here, and, after all that grim business, a bath sounded _divine_ , more so with Hermione present, "This isn't _exactly_ the time or place for experiments, Drevas, and… well, a book _might_ make her feel better, now that I think about it," a brief rummage through 'Mione's pack produced a copy of _The Complete Mystery of Talara_ , which Serana placed next to Hermione's pillow.

A few minutes passed in silence, only broken by Serana handing Drevas a vial of boar's blood for her wrap; apparently, Hermione had a box containing dozens of such vials, with a note on the inside lid: _For Ana's food._

The sight brought a blush to Serana's cheeks, _'So thoughtful, my 'Mione.'_

Taking his advice, Serana reached for her braid, figuring she should let her hair down; it'd been nearly ten hours since taking the potion, and, though she still felt the Alchemical energy flowing through her, it wouldn't be long before she crashed.

Hopefully, Hermione would be back soon… and then they could... relax. Yes, they could relax together. There was steam coming off a part of the pond surrounding them, so the possibility of a nice warm bath seemed likely. Relaxing sounded good, after… all that.

 **. . . . .**

 _'Even the deer look weird in this place,'_ mused Farkas, watching one such creature nibble the dark green grass that grew down here, crouched next to a half-naked Hermione.

Once she'd found the deer, she'd crouched in the dirt, put the pommel of her spear into the ground, and leaned it against a shoulder. For five minutes, she hadn't moved, simply staring at the lone deer, rubbing the haft of her weapon.

A glance at her shadow showed Kresh was equally still, beyond the odd flick of a tail and twitch of an ear.

 _'My amnesia's gone.'_

Shifting his stance slightly, Farkas leaned closer to the young woman, "That bad?"

Her shoulders twitched slightly, "What is?"

"The memories," he clarified, keeping one eye on the deer; it hadn't noticed them.

Another twitch, "Oh," she went still again, "…Have you ever wondered why… why you're a Companion?"

Farkas grunted; figures her head was in the wrong place, questioning herself again. As her Shield-Brother, however, it was his job to keep her alert, aware, keep her focused. Given where they were, having the lass distracted could be fatal. Having fought at her side, he knew that, unless all four of them stood together, their odds of getting through Gelebor's gauntlet were low.

Farkas and Hermione, plus Kresh? There wasn't any way they'd get to the end without some intervention from the Gods.

Drevas and Serana, plus Scales? They _might_ be able to do it, carve through an army of Falmer to reach the bow, but Farkas doubted they'd be in any condition to finish off that vampire lord they were gunning for. The Dragonborn was… well, the fucking _Dragonborn_ , but he was old, older than Kodlak.

But her question… did Farkas ever really think about what he was doing, how it affected him?

He answered truthfully, "Yeah. I did that once."

Silence, save for the strange keening of those huge mushrooms. Farkas didn't blame Hermione for being freaked by the place, creepy as it was.

"And?"

The young Werewolf shrugged, "Dunno if you noticed, but I _really_ like hitting things. Bandits, Forsworn, draugr, Falmer, dragons; the tougher the fight, the more…" he struggled to find the words, "the more... life makes sense, I suppose. I know it ain't like that for you," he added when her head started turning toward him, "but that's no issue. You're you, I'm me. I know why I fight."

"Hm… so what's your reason?"

"Three reasons. One, I'm a Companion. Beyond our duty to the Harbinger, who sets the rules we have to follow, my life is in service to Skyrim, and if those goldskins ever try taking her by force, I'll defend my home till my body's ripped apart; sure, there's other threats, but the Holds each have their own defenders to protect the little people. I get called in when there's a _real_ fight to be had, I get paid to do it, and I'm happy to defend my people and homeland, proud to be a Companion. That's one.

"Two, Vilkas. He's my brother. He might be a flowery little shit at times," the corner of Hermione's lip twitched, matching Farkas' own expression, "and he drinks even more than I do, but that's because he's got a mind like yours; he's better at talking to nobility than me, better at dealing with clients or the Jarl. Some people say I got the strength of Ysgramor, while Vilkas got his smarts. Dunno about Ysgramor, but I do know one thing: Vilkas took the Wolf's Blood because I did, and, of the two of us, he regrets it. Probably because he hears the howling of the Hunting Grounds whenever he tries to sleep, like every Were who's ever lived. I don't mind it much, because it means I'm better at fighting and providing for my brothers and sisters, but I don't hold it against Vilkas. He's delicate, I'm not, but he's also my little brother, so I'll protect him. Always. Even if it means fighting through an army of Falmer to get some shiny bow."

 _'Even if it means running from our burning home and dying parents, my crying brother slung over a shoulder, and fighting my way through the Reach to get to Whiterun.'_

Farkas cleared his throat gently, so as not to spook the deer, and gave the third reason, "Three… I don't really what else I can do. Sure, I'm not a dumbass or a milk-drinker, but I'm good at fighting for others. I may not be able to quote the Poetic Edda at you (and, really, that story's boring as shit compared to _The Night of Tears_ ), but if you need someone put in their place, or you got bandits runnin' around, or your kid got kidnapped by the Falmer, I'm your man. Because I've got the strength of Ysgramor, and I'm not afraid of the shit getting shoveled around Skyrim. If it gets between me and my goal, it either moves itself, or I move _it._ "

Then it was quiet again. The deer still hadn't noticed them, which irked Farkas slightly. The deer around Whiterun and Riverwood were a lot more skittish than these… but that was probably the fault of Aela and Scales running amok.

Finally, Hermione spoke, softly, "I have to get back home. But now it's… complicated."

"Serana?" she nodded. Farkas huffed, "So take her with you."

"What if I can't?" her knuckles whitened on the _Fang's_ haft, "What if – ow."

Farkas popped her gently upside the head, taking care not to cut himself on the spear's tip, "Stop that, asking ' _what if_ ' all the damn time. If you wanna do something, Hermione, fuckin' _do it._ If it doesn't work… well, go tell someone what you did and ask what went wrong, then do it again once you know."

She stared at him like he'd told her Tiber Septim wore dresses and sang lewd songs in public, "That… was rather wise of you, Farkas."

He shrugged, "S'what I was taught, when I joined the Companions. Kodlak told me that, when I was having trouble learning how to fight… without getting hurt, that is. Keep trying, keep learning, and you can do anythin'."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, then returned her gaze to the deer. She went still again, but Kresh shifted, the Shepherd's head looking at her, which meant they were talking to each other again.

Maybe. It'd happened before, and Hermione usually told them what Kresh was saying afterward.

Farkas let that go on for a minute before asking, "Not that talking to you isn't nice, what with the view that comes with it," she snorted as he shamelessly checked out her lithe, fit body, "but why're you hunting this deer?"

She gulped softly, rolling the _Fang_ off her shoulder and preparing herself, "Gotta ask Hircine something, and request a boon."

Oh. "Uh, we're in a holy shrine to an Elven God, and you're gonna summon a Daedra? That, uh, doesn't seem safe… for us, that is."

"I said _ask_ , Farkas, not _bring down from the stars_ ," huffed the young woman as she shifted her stance, now looking like a runner getting ready to move, left hand down, right hand occupied with lining up her throw, "Hircine takes on many forms, and all of Nirn is His palace," Hermione's voice was almost reverent as she spoke, body of corded muscle still and tense, "More than that; He is the God of the Wild, of Beasts, of the Hunt. He watches over the forests, for they are a part of the Wild. And the Wild stretches further afield than merely Nirn."

That… was more than Farkas had ever heard or suspected on the matter of the Huntsman, and he'd read the fucking book. It sounded, to his ears, that Hircine was known in _Hermione's_ world, and asked, "Were you a follower, where you came from?"

She laughed dryly, "I was an innocent schoolgirl before Blackreach. Now… now I am _more_."

Then she spoke, voice resonating with magic and _power_ , _"Hircine, my Patron, God of the Wild, Bless this Hunt, and take my Prey unto your breast in the Hunting Grounds, that they may enrich your demesne and live forever in your Paradise."_

Farkas watched numbly as Hermione's muscles practically _creaked_ as she _moved_ , darting forward in a short sprint and hurling the _White Fang_ at the deer, which noticed its mortal peril only too late.

It was _beautiful_ , the way she moved like that. Predatory, smooth and powerful.

The spear struck the heart of the deer; it shifted away with a small cry of pain, then fell with a sigh to the ground.

A clean kill. Aela would've wept with joy to see it. As it was, Farkas, stood calmly and holstered his bow and the arrow he'd nocked, in the unlikely event Hermione missed, and watched the beautiful young woman walk with regal grace to her kill. In the months since he met her, she'd gone from being lithe like a deer, if somewhat short, to shooting up three inches and gaining the figure of a powerful warrior. Beautiful, and deadly.

Farkas shook his head and walked over to a rock to watch what came next. Were she a bit closer to his age, and not besotted with Serana, he'd make a try for her. As it was, she was his sister in all but blood. He'd protect her, like Vilkas, from the things in the dark.

A presence descended, bringing a golden glow above the felled deer and the smell of endless evergreen forests, with a hint of blood. The golden light resolved into the form of a great stag with eyes of starlight, which fixed Hermione with a piercing stare.

"Hail to you, Lord Hircine," though she wasn't facing him, Farkas felt the smile in her voice, "Thank you for watching over me and mine. I offer you a deer of the Chantry of Auri-El, and ask for a small Boon."

The God of the Wild replied, a conglomeration of many voices and bestial calls, **Hail,** **Hermione Granger, my Most Favored. It brings me joy to see your mind whole once more, in addition to your continued devotions as one of Mine. Speak your mind and desire.**

Farkas was already drawing out his wineskin; he'd seen offerings like these with other Hunters around Skyrim. Usually they asked for a small blessing or token of Hircine's favor, always something they could use. Why Hermione was doing this, though, he didn't know; she already had Kresh and the _White Fang_ , so it must have something to do with her memories… maybe.

He didn't expect what she actually asked Hircine for.

"Could… could you regrow my hair, and send Lavinia to braid it, please?"

Both Farkas and the Stag blinked at the young woman, but it was Hircine who spoke, sounding surprised, **Your… hair?**

She nodded, "Yes, my Lord. It was important to me, something I took great pride in. I'd like it back." Ah, that made sense to Farkas. He'd be pretty irked if he lost his own shaggy mane, after spending the last five years growing it out and keeping it trimmed.

Hircine huffed, **Very well**.

 _Fwoof!_

Farkas almost spit the mouthful of wine he'd just sipped as a thicket of bushy hair suddenly burst from Hermione's scalp; shoulder length and, from what he could see, of a shrubby texture, it almost shone gold in the light of the cavern.

 _'I may have just witnessed history,'_ the young Nord thought in amazement, _'A Hunter who could've asked Hircine for anything and received it, and she asks for_ hair. _'_

A moment later, the deer at Hermione's feet glowed; she removed the _Fang_ before it could vanish to the Hunting Grounds. In its place, a book appeared.

And a young girl. A _very familiar_ young girl, dressed in a white skirt, bare chested, her form edged with silver light and smiling beatifically. Lavinia, the young Were Hermione slew in Shriekwind.

She smiled at Hermione, who'd stilled, "I know. It's okay, Hermione; you set me free. There's no need to apologize."

Nodding jerkily, the young woman knelt, laying the _Fang_ at her right side and reached for the book, "What's this?" she asked as Lavinia moved to her back, running ghostly fingers through her hair.

Hircine answered, **Your position as Most Favored, as you've no doubt realized, is similar to that of the followers of the Nine. Therefore, I bestow you with the gathered knowledge of rites and rituals unique to my Pack, my Hunters, those who walk in the Wild. _Howl to the Moon_ , is the book's title, and it is the only one in any world, Hermione Granger, my Most Favored. Take care of it.**

"I shall, Lord Hircine," said young woman breathed happily, hugging the book to her chest; her hair was now sticking up in a bushy globe under Lavinia's ministrations, much to Farkas' slight amusement.

Then the ghost snapped her fingers.

And Hermione's hair twirled into tight, narrow braids, falling in a jaw-length ropy curtain about her head.

While Hermione felt at the tight braids, the ghostly Werewolf turned her star-blue eye to Farkas, "I never got to thank you, Farkas, for killing Sinding. Thank you, oh, thank you so much!" she darted to him, giving the young man a kiss on the cheek. It felt like warm rain in the spring and fresh mead after a long day training.

Around a heavy blush, Farkas gruffly muttered, "No trouble. Just doing what was right."

Lavinia smiled brightly, and then vanished in a flare of silvery light.

Oh, and Hircine was looking at him, **You are no doubt wondering, Farkas, my Favored, when your reward for slaying my Shamed Champion will be presented to you. It shall be soon, my son. Be vigilant, and do not waver.** The Stag looked between the two Hunters, one Blessed, the other… Holy, **Either of you. Your trial is only beginning, and there will be much blood and sorrow between here and your goal. Wield the _White Fang_ in my name, Hermione Granger, and send these fiends to the Abyss they deserve for defiling this sacred place, holy to more than Akatosh!**

Tucking the book under her left arm, Hermione stood, the _Fang_ in her right hand, "We shall endure this trial, Lord Hircine, and fell these beasts… one last question, before you depart?"

 **Speak**.

Farkas stood as well, and loped to Hermione's side as she, in a mildly curt voice, asked a question that'd been bothering him since the dark tunnels, "Do you know why, exactly, Azura wishes to parlay with me?"

The Stag straightened its neck and spoke in a forbidding tone, **I am aware of the reason, Hermione Granger, but cannot relate it to you. Even the Daedra have limits and rules they must abide by, as you well know. Nevertheless, I counsel you: go to Her, and listen. In the coming days, you shall know the voices and doings of many of my brethren; but, ultimately, the choice to accept aid offered is yours and yours alone, my Most Favored. Fare you well.**

"Farewell, Lord Hircine," bid Hermione softly. The Stag vanished in the next breath, the presence fleeing the dark cave.

Allowing the silence to go on for a few moments, Farkas broke it by nudging the lass with his wineskin, "Drink?"

Shaking her head, she replied in a voice thick with emotion, "No, thank you." She paused, "I'd like to get back to Drevas and Serana."

Humming and putting the wineskin back, Farkas observed, "You didn't ask him to send you home."

Hermione huffed, and glared at Farkas as they made for the bridge leading back to camp, "You really think I'm just gonna leave you to Drevas' tender mercies? Or leave Drevas all alone, with no Lydia to keep him in check? Or abandon Serana?"

Smiling, Farkas glanced down at her, "Yeah. And I'm glad you didn't." he ruffled her hair. It was softer than before. "It'd be weird, if you weren't around." Mostly because of the vampire, but also because Drevas was _strange_.

She punched him in the side, laughing, " _Arse_."

 **. . . . .**

"You _what._ "

"Asked Hircine for my hair back. It looks nice, right Ana?"

"Ah, yes. My goodness, those are fine braids… but, Hermione…"

"Hmm?"

"You called on a _Daedric Prince_ to give you back your hair, when you could've asked for, I don't know, virtually _any_ Artifact Hircine could give!"

"Yeah, I _could've_ , but my hair's more important than having more firepower. I have enough of that anyway, between _Stormbringer, White Fang,_ and my wand."

"Well… I suppose…"

"You okay, old Mer?"

"…"

"Drevas?"

"Oh, don't mind him, my Ana. He's just trying not to think about what I've been doing."

"…You, Hermione Granger, are the most entertaining smartass I've ever had the pleasure of travelling with." A chuckle. "Your _hair_ is a Daedric prize, _wow_. Just… _wow._ "

"Um, thanks?... I think?"

"…Hey, boss. That means you can ask that one you call on Boethiah for, like, a new face or something right? It's gets kinda painful lookin' at your ugly mug all day, ya know."

"Pfft!"

"Hehehe!"

"Fuck off, boy, and get some sleep. Same goes for you two. I'll take first watch. We'll move on tomorrow."

"Goodnight Drevas, Scales, Farkas."

"Night, lass, Serana, boss."

"Breck!"

"Whuff!"

"Oh, night, Kresh. Good work today, mate."

…

…

…

…

…

…

A whisper, barely heard, "I love you, my Ana."

"And I, you, my 'Mione." The soft smack of a tender kiss, the shifting of blankets as the two lovers got comfortable...

The spark of a flame, and the crackle of the campfire. Drevas stared into them, one hand on _Starfall_ , the other on his pipe, Scales' head on his lap.

He glanced down, "Wake me if there's trouble," his old friend huffed softly, blue eyes alert and watching, while Drevas of Mournhold finished his pipe and drifted off into a well-deserved rest.

He had a feeling he'd need it.

 **.**

 **.**

 **_\|/_**

 **.**

 **.**

 **A/N:**

 **This chapter was hard to write. So much to put into one chapter, but I ended up going well over my word limit. The goal was 15 thousand. This chapter is just over 19 thousand. I hope you all like it.**

 **So, Hermione has her memories back. Most of them, anyway. You'll have probably noticed her behavior didn't change much. That's because her experiences, even when meshed with what she had before the amnesia, have _already changed her_. In pretty significant ways, at that. Plus, she doesn't want to worry Serana and her friends. About the only changes will be a slight hesitance to kill people who aren't Falmer or draugr or, well… you'll see how it goes, once we're out of this mad gauntlet.**

 **Not much of a Serana scene here, mostly because she's a hopeless romantic when not in combat, and I'm trying not to make this whole mini-arc a fluff-fest.**

 **The fallout of this chapter (Hermione's restored memories, mainly) will be dealt with at the beginning of the next, so stay tuned.**

 **Also, people keep saying it, so I'll go into a little detail:**

 **Tamrielic vs HP-Verse magic :**

 **Enchanting: Tamriel wins by a landslide; we don't see much enchanting in HP, so, yeah.  
Practical magic: HP wins; who cares about your Fireball and your Reflecting robes when I can transfigure a coin into smoke and make you _choke on it_.  
Potions/Alchemy: straight-up tie; HP has the Philosopher's Stone and Liquid Luck, Tamriel has potions that do virtually _anything_. I'm not going with Skyrim Alchemy, BTW; I'm going with Oblivion and Morrowind, because those games' mechanics weren't nerfed in favor of stupid ragdoll physics and shitty storylines.  
Versatility: HP absolutely _destroys_ Tamriel in this category. A wand is less diffuse with its spells than the (generally) AOE spells of the ES-verse; standing two inches away from a passing spell, in game, hits you anyway. In a realistic scenario, this is because the magic of the body draws the magic of the world _inward_ , creating a sort of ethereal gravity well… but with magic. HP doesn't have this; if you miss, you miss, but the odds of you missing with a conjured block of granite that you just banished at the heavily armored guy who _can't Apparate_ are pretty fucking low. **

**THEREFORE: An outright war between the two magical societies, even after taking things like militaries and readiness into account, would see present-day Tamriel getting a curb-stomp from the ICW. That's my estimation. If you'd like to discuss further, or have a counterpoint, I'm happy to debate you in PMs.**

 **Also, can you imagine me throwing someone else, like Bellatrix, into this world?!**

 **…Damnit! Now I'm thinking about it! Let's do some reviewer responses before I get carried away with a random plot bunny again!**

 **Simianpower: … Who's writing the story here, me or you? Begone, n'wah.**

 **The-Only-Temporary-Name: You'll be seeing Elenwen again soon-ish, and R'siiri again at the end of the arc. There _is_ a reason to Elenwen's apparent bitchiness, which is alluded to in this chapter, but there's a lot more to it than just the Nerevarine being a promiscuous lizard when she was younger. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Everyone else… thanks for all the kind reviews! I'm glad you like! I put a lot of work into writing it!**

 **Anyway, I'm off to work on my other stories! See you all in May (at the latest)!**

 **~Baked**

Up Next: The Betrayed Part 3: The Forgotten Vale


End file.
